THE LAND OF THE MIDNIGHT SUNBURN
     It's really quite strange to see the sun go down about 11 pm, and dusk last until 1 or 2 in the morning (given a clear sky in a place known for it's quick-changing and unpredictable weather).  Alaska is like another country visited a century ago, and not a place for those who desire their creature comforts.  Once you venture outside of Anchorage or Fairbanks, few people have phones, running water, or electricity.  Most folks use propane and generators when needed, and shoot whatever walks through their backyards.  Every Alaskan is allowed to shoot three bears per year (you just have to tell the game wardens that you did so), as many moose as you like (in season, no permit needed), and caribou at any time.

TRAILER TRASH
 I was picked up at the Anchorage airport by the folks who would be renting me a motor home.  Cheaper than renting a car, and avoiding the $150 night hotel room charges, living the RV life seemed a wise move.  Essentially, what I rented was a pickup truck with a trailer unit dropped onto the back.  It was really quite nice...queen size bed in the part that hung over the truck cab, small kitchenette and table, and a toilet with shower (like the ones in sailboats).  What could be a problem?  I'd soon find out as I would try to fit into the shower closet.  You'd have to be a munchkin or contortionist to get in there.  It gets worse when you find out how little water is held in the tank while you hold a dripping water hose over your still soapy body.  The fact that the truck's fresh water tank held more gallons than the used water holding tank also caused some distress as H2O overflowed out of the shower and into the trailer's cabin, soaking the sleeping bag and clothes that I needed for outback hiking/camping.

 I must admit that it's nice to have a kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom right with you when traveling, but the upkeep requirements are often very distracting.  You constantly have to be on the lookout for opportunities to fill up with water or dump the holding tank.  I haven't been so concerned about "dumping" since I ate that bad tuna steak back in Boston.  I'd go to RV parks for retired military personnel and try to carry myself as I did in my twenties when I was in the Coast Guard, or go into parks at dark and fill up while looking over my shoulder...whatever it took.  Not that RV parks weren't available to do all this for a fairly low price, its just that I was enjoying parking by Alaska's lovely "braided rivers" (streams that intertwine through canyons) and beautifully scenic pull-over spots during the trip.  It was traveling "room with a view".

Golden boy: Panning for gold in Crow Creek (Kenai Pennisula)
 

ON THE ROAD AGAIN
 After a quick tour of Anchorage, including a few beers in a bar frequented primarily by the locals (most smiling at me with six or fewer teeth), the first leg of the trip took me to Denali Park, 6 hours north. I stopped on the way there to fill up at a gas station built to look like a giant igloo. Talked for a while with Frank and Bev, the couple who run the place.  Suddenly, we hear some noise.  Frank says "That damn bear.", runs outside, and hops in his pickup truck to chase a two year old black bear (recently out on it's own from mama bear) out of the dumpster in the parking lot.  It scurries away.  A half-hour later it was back.  Frank runs outside with his shotgun and BOOM!.  He shot it in the ass with birdshot to sting it and teach it to stay away from dumpsters for it's food.  Returning to the igloo, he said "I'd a shot it dead if it was bigger, but you only get three bears a year."  I figured it was time to leave, so went out to the RV only to find out that it was locked and no keys to be found.  I went back in and had another cup of coffee with Frank and Bev as we waited for the locksmith to drive the 2 hours at midnight to the sealed vehicle.  One hour later, while looking for change to buy another postcard, I would find the keys in my coat pocket.

IT'S DENALI...McKINLEY NEVER VISITED ALASKA
 That night, I slept at a "turnout" three miles out from the entrance to Denali.  Up at 5am (after two hours sleep), I ventured to the visitor center to arrange for a bus ride out to a reserved campsite.  I hopped the old school bus, threw the camping gear in the back, and looked out the window to observe the sub arctic flora and fauna.  You see, Denali is a park the size of the state of Massachusetts.  There is only one dirt road that goes 86 miles into it.  No cars are allowed...only the park's busses.  Denali is considered to be the only intact ecosystem left in North America.  About the only thing we bus travelers didn't see was wolves.  We viewed moose, caribou, grizzly bear, mountain goats, harriers, golden eagles, owls, red fox, ground squirrels, ptarmigan (the Alaskan state bird reminiscent of a pheasant with fuzzy leggings), etc.  We traveled through taira (rolling hills with small trees) to the tundra (treeless plains) to my campsite at mile 86 with a beautiful lake on one side and North America's largest mountain, Denali (Mt. McKinley) on the other.  Couldn't see Denali Mountain due to the low clouds and periodic rain, so I borrowed a canoe from the rangers and went for a ride on the crystal clear lake, checking out beaver lodges and watching a mother loon and it's chick.  That night, dehydrated chicken enchiladas in their foil bag (just add hot water) was on the menu, and I watched in awe as the clouds pulled away periodically to reveal the massiveness of the mountain...absolutely amazing in its height and breath.  I put my food back in the bear-proof closet provided and went off to sleep in the pup tent.

 Waking up in a puddle the next morning, I made a mental note to buy a new tent with a bigger rainfly to keep out the precipitation.  Thankfully, fleece and gore-tex kept me dry and warm.  Dehydrated oatmeal and streusel went well with the freeze-dried coffee, and I picked blueberries, cranberries, bear berries, and soap berries in the fields while waiting for a bus to take me  back to the park entrance.

 Next stop, the town of Seward on the Kenai peninsula, a couple of hours from Anchorage.  The Kenai is where the Anchorage folks go for their recreation...great hunting, fishing, scenery.  On the way,  saw Dall Sheep on cliffs only 10 yards above the highway, and watched in vain for Beluga whales in the fjords.  Stayed over for a couple of days in this lovely little town, parking the camper on a dirt and stone road overlooking the bay filled with fishing boats.  Lovely.  Seward has one of the largest tide changes in the world.  Docks are attached by loose iron rings around telephone pole pilings so that they can float up and down on the 29 foot tide difference.  Rented a kayak to see pieces of glaciers calving off to become icebergs in the bay, whales swimming, sea lions, otters, and harbor seals sunning, and puffins gorging themselves on small fish (sometimes they eat so much that they can't fly).

Pieces "calving" off of a glacier
An iceberg from a glacier

I'VE GOT GAS
 The next day was spent sightseeing, taking a dog sled ride through the woods, and watching kids try to net salmon in a local stream.  At about six p.m. I decided to head back to Anchorage to turn in the camper and hop a train around the interior.  As I was driving through the vast Chugach forest, I noticed that the gas gauge needle was on empty.  I drove further.  The gas tank light on the dash lit up and the needle fell below "E".  My best guess was that I was about 20 miles from the nearest gas station on the road.  Things looked bleak.  Then suddenly...a vision.  A sign on the road said there was gas at the next left turn.  With smile gleaming, I turned left and drove, and drove, and drove....  I coasted in neutral downhill and prayed going uphill.  People in RV's who I queried told me it was just a few more miles up the road.  42 miles later, I reached the end of the road.  There, in a back yard sat a beat-up old trailer, some abandoned cars, corrugated tin garages, and THANK GOD, a beat-up old gas pump.  I walked up to the trailer, trying not to trip over old tires, oil cans, ornery dogs, etc., and banged on the plywood door at 10:30pm.  Yelling at the top of my lungs, I convinced the elderly lady to turn on the gas pump.  We pumped 30.9 gallons of gas into the 30 gallon tank.  Heck, I probably could have squeezed out another 30 or 40 yards from the remaining fumes.

PLAN B
 I went back to the motor home dealer's lot to clean the camper, pack up my gear, and sleep for two hours before my prearranged 7am cab pickup to take me to the train station.  The plan was to take the train back to Denali to camp and learn how to white water kayak.  I soon realized, however, that I should have sent more stuff back to NYC the previous day.  I couldn't possibly carry the weight and volume of these items on the train, let alone in the back country of Denali.  When the cab pulled into the parking lot, I went with plan B, telling him to take me to the rental car desk at the Airport.

 I pulled out of Anchorage airport in my Pontiac Gran Am, complete with chips in the windshield (only the eight highways in Alaska and the streets of Anchorage/Fairbanks are paved.  All other roads in Alaska are made of dirt and stone).  Cars get beat up, but the driving really is great in Alaska...open roads, no lights or intersections for hundreds of miles with nothing but wilderness on each side of the road.  No road rage here.  Saw Frank and Bev at the Igloo on the way back.  They told me the locksmith was not very happy with me (even though he got paid by the RV company for his travels).  Then on to Denali to kayak.

RIVER RAT
 I donned my drysuit with rubberized cuffs and neck, and headed with my two fellow novices and guide toward the put-in spot.  We learned the basics as we paddled the first ½ of the trip.  Then we were encouraged to challenge ourselves.  I immediately paddled for some stationary waves to try to surf them.  It looks easy on TV.  It was great!  I nosed in, turned around, paddled upstream, got in the coil and surfed the wave for about 20 seconds.  Really exciting!  Then my kayak started to make a slow turn sideways.  Sensing that this was not a good thing, I attempted to compensate.

Taking a break in an eddie (quiet pool off of the main current)

    Further down the river, I caught up to my kayak, swam to shore with it, and climbed back in.   Dry suit or not, 38 degree water gets pretty damn cold.  I selected my challenges more cautiously during the next hour.  Once out, I went directly to the public showers, dropping quarters into the metal box to keep the warm streams of water pulsing onto my shivering body.  Then it was back to the kayaking place to arrange for another day on the river tomorrow.  There I was told it was too late to do so.  The guides had gone home for the day, and of course, no one has a phone.

MIDDLE OF NOWHERE
 So the next day at 7am, I went into Denali Park and reserved a hiking/camping area (each hiker is assigned an area about 200 square miles in size to himself).  I joined other campers on a special bus (no sightseers allowed) that would deliver me to my area (the Tokat Riverbed).  We were stopped about 30 miles into the journey because the road section through the passes was closed due to snow.  After machinery cleared the road (treacherous in good conditions - built along cliffs, etc), we moved on.

Hours later, further out on the only road through Denali Park...headed toward my dropoff.
(Denali Mountain is visible in the distance)

   At my designated dropoff point, I disembarked the bus to hike up along the riverbed into the distant mountains...although I couldn't see them just yet...I was hiking in a blizzard.  This would be the first time I engaged in winter camping in mid-August.  I set up my camp about seven hours later in a little valley between mountains tinted with white.  Now it was time for a warm meal before hitting the sack.  Augh!  My little backpacking stove won't work...guess its dried fruit and granola for supper.

    Inside my summer weight tent, I slept in my summer weight sleeping bag with three pair of socks, long underwear and pants, several shirts on my upper body, and a hat made from a shirt.  Freezing my butt off, I made a mental note to get a better sleeping bag along with the waterproof tent.  Breaking through the layer of ice to get water in the morning, I then proceeded to clean my stove and get it working for the dehydrated eggs and powdered hot chocolate.  Such beauty around me, and my soul stirred (though cold), I just couldn't go back yet.  I hiked further up into the valley, donning sandals whenever necessary to cross the streams coming down from the snow- capped hills...along with caribou.  I sat on a rock and watched 17 caribou walk by me at about 30 yards.  I wondered why they were coming down from the hills.  Gee, the wind seems to be picking up.

 Denali Mountain is so BIGthat it creates it own weather systems.  It was about to create a spectacular and ferocious windstorm.  I set up camp, wrestling with my tent as the wind wrapped it around me.  I would find out the next day that the winds were 45-55 mph (stronger in chute-like valleys like mine).  I hunkered down for another frigid evening, listening to and watching my tent snap like a lion tamer's whip.  Damn it's cold...I've been stranded in snow storms in my hometown of Buffalo, but this is really something.

 I started my hike back at dawn, re-fording those 38 degree streams in sandals and rolled up pants, finally seeing the road in the distance where I would flag down a passing bus for the ride back to the visitor center.  In the distance, I saw that one of them was stopped.  Busses stop to allow the riders to view game.  This far out, they usually don't stop any more for caribou because they've seen so many.  I figure they're looking at a grizzly or a moose.  Either way, it's bad news if I've got to get past one of those.  I review my bear training (talk to it while waving hands over head, play dead if attacked) and moose advise (turn and run like the wind).  Luckily, it was only a herd of eight caribou.  They eyed me cautiously as I hiked by.  The day had turned out to be a lovely one, so I hopped a bus going even further out into the park so that I could see McKinley in all it's glory.  You know, it's bigger than Everest! (It just starts off lower to sea level)

SAY "ATHKABASKAN NATIVE ALASKAN" EIGHT TIMES FAST
     Next day, I headed toward Fairbanks, two hours away, for dinner with a friend that I'd met when in Alaska three years previous.  She is the Athkabaskan tribe's best beadier and runs a shop that sells beads and beaded items.  She is having one of her skilled friends, an 80 year old Eskimo woman, make a smoked moose skin and beaded belt for me and we would visit this lady after dinner.  Seeing that I was buying, I expected that my friend (and one of her friends from her home village who was in Fairbanks for medical aide training) would select a high-priced restaurant for Chateau Tundra Chardonnay and Moose Cordon Bleu or some such Alaskan delicacy.  Seems there aren't any high-priced restaurants, so we travel to a truck stop 10 miles out of town for meat loaf and beer.  Along the way, we drive slowly because during "rutting (mating) season", the Moose don't watch out for cars (I guess they're preoccupied with more important things).  We do see a couple by the side of the road on our way.  Lovestruck, they pay no attention to us.

     We turn up a dirt driveway to a shack with a padlock on the door, 4 old cars in the yard (used as storage), and a hole dug into the permafrost where bear, caribou, and moose meat will be kept during the winter.  Want a moose burger in January?  Go outside with an ax and chop off a piece.  My belt's designer/beader isn't home, so we go to her brother's place up the road.  We turn off where we see a small, wheeless old trailer set on the ground and a woman and two men sitting around a campfire cooking.  We get out and say "Hi".  We talk and I ask about the Canada Goose (which has no legs) lying next to the fire.  Seems they had held out a cracker to it, wrung it's neck when it came close, and were about to pluck and clean it.  The feet had already been placed in the bubbling stew pot on the fire (Yummy).  I thanked the woman for agreeing to do my belt (as yet unseen and undescribed as per tradition) and went with my friends to touch the Alaska Pipeline on the way back to town.
 

WHERE TO NEXT?
 I would sleep in my car on a dirt road near the airport that night.  Driving out at 5am, I ran into a ditch going ACROSS the road.  Seems that if locals don't like RV'ers and guys like me sleeping near their land, they just get a back hoe and create obstacles.  I rocked the car out of the ditch, hoping that it wouldn't seize up before I got it back to the rental car turn-in lot.

 That's about it.  Left claw marks on the runway when they made me leave Alaska.  Now I'm devising the next big adventure.  British Columbia? New Zealand? Guatemala? Eventually, I'll get to them all.
 
 

Time to go (to the) home(page)

            Aw, do we have to go?