June 29, 2005

We just got back from 3 days and 2 nights of exploring.

The weekend was quiet. We cleaned up the apartment a bit. We went out for pizza on Saturday night and then drove down to Turnagain Arm to watch the bore tide. We watched for a half hour or so as the tide changed. It was dramatic, but we didn’t get to see a real bore tide, so we drove a little further down the arm. We saw a small bore tide as we drove. We stopped at the next pull-off and waited for it to get to us, but it had lost its edge by then. It was still neat to see the water sweeping over the mud flat, covering vast amounts of ‘land’ right before our eyes.

Kris applied for a job over the weekend. I thought about applying for the same job, but she was more prepared for pursuing it. It is true that we committed to taking the summer off, especially Kris, but this was not a job application for financial purposes. The Anchorage Daily News advertised for a restaurant critic. We have no idea what quality of applicants they will have to chose from, but for our purposes, we couldn’t imagine a better opportunity to combine two of our passions, in this case, restaurant food and writing. Kris even suggested in her cover letter that perhaps it could be a writing duo with me, perhaps a Click and Clack for restaurant reviews. Even if nothing comes of this, it is fun to imagine.

We went on a hike on Sunday evening. We went up into the mountains along Anchorage to a trail head that we hadn’t yet tried. We hiked to the upper reaches of Campbell Creek and headed up the valley for a ways. We saw a black bear footprint in the mud on the trail. We found a bit of fur with some porcupine quills in the brush along the trail and imagined the predator who spit it there after making the mistake of biting a porcupine in the hind end. The trail provided many spectacular views of the Anchorage area. It was a nice hike, but a bit hot and buggy.

Yes, the temperatures have been uncomfortable, reaching almost to the mid 70’s a couple of times.

The bugs are out in force. The mosquitoes don’t seem any worse than walking in a wet woods in the evening in Ohio, but they seem to be more willing to chase you into the open. We keep avoiding using repellant, mostly out of laziness. We do have itchy bites, but at least as of now, there are no serious diseases known to be transmitted by Alaskan mosquitoes. There are lots of other bugs, most of which don’t seem to bite. It just makes you feel more threatened when you walk through a swarm of bugs where some of them are mosquitoes. There are also big bugs that go splat all over the front of our cars. These tend to have colorful insides and require constant cleaning of the windshield.

On Monday, we got a late start. We packed up the car. We had a few paperwork things to deal with. Kris got a haircut. She says she didn’t get $45 worth of satisfaction from her haircut, and I, of course, just vaguely nodded my head politely.

We hit the road about mid afternoon and headed North. We drove through Palmer and headed into the mountains on Hatcher’s Pass Road. The pass was still closed, but right at the gate across the road is the entrance to Independence Mine State Historical Site. This was a successful gold mine that operated in the early part of the 20^th century. The mine was shut down as a non-essential operation during World War II and never really got going again afterward with a fixed dollar value on gold. There are numerous support buildings (e.g., bunkhouses, store, mess hall) that have been restored, at least on the outside. The mine structures are mostly collapsing, although there is a display that allows you to go about 10 feet into one of the entrances to the mine. It was cold, dark, and scary. A mesh gate gives you a view into the darkness that includes rotting timbers for support. There were many pictures and explanations throughout the site and the visitor center. It was an amazing look at history that seemed so frightening and so distant, yet only a generation ago. History takes on a new meaning in a state that has only recently developed.

At this elevation, it is still early season. It is hard to consider late June as early season, but there is still snow on the ground. There were still some amazing snow drifts near some of the buildings that give a clue to the harshness of winter. The road climbs another 700 feet past the mine to Hatcher’s Pass. This road typically opens in early July.

As we headed back down the mountain in the evening, we took a detour up a dirt road that leads to a trailhead for some mountain lakes. Calling this a road would be generous. The pot holes rocked the truck back and forth as I dodged left and right to minimize the impact. Water ran across the road in a few places due to strategic beaver activity. The truck was finally fulfilling its purpose, providing a sense of security in an unforgiving environment. Our narrow square truck provides confidence. The location of the wheels and the sides of the truck are intuitively obvious. It becomes an extension of my body. I sometimes accidentally refer to my "left front foot" when talking aloud about the position of my wheels. Kris just laughs at me.

We crossed a one lane bridge with no guard rails. I came to a stop as a dark object sat on the road way 50 feet ahead. Kris and I were baffled. "What the hell is that?", I asked. We both stared. I reached for the camera. It was large and dark enough to be a small bear, but it had a weird shaped head. Finally, I noticed the tail. "It’s a beaver", I exclaimed. Kris was relieved to confirm my identification. I began to snap pictures. It began to walk toward us. I rolled down the window. It paused. It had things to do, so it wasn’t going to let us get in its way. It sauntered past us on the narrow road. What an attitude!

This was our first close encounter of our lives with a beaver and they are much bigger than we ever imagined. Yesterday, we saw another beaver that I mistakenly identified through the binoculars as a black bear. We stared in awe at the size of the critter. This area of the Talkeetna Mountains is full of beavers with ponds and dams appearing everywhere in the lush valleys. It was the biggest treat of this trip.

So we made it up the dirt road past the beaver to the trailhead. The parking lot at the trailhead was the most rugged parking area I have ever seen with large rocks extending up through the uneven dirt everywhere. We debated camping there, but weren’t sure of the rules and thought it might up the ante on risk. We had heard about the couple from Anchorage that were killed by a grizzly at their campsite over the weekend and decided we would be better staying at an established campground. We headed further down the mountain to a campground recommended by a worker in the visitor center at the mine.

This was a state campground with no services except pit toilets. As such, there was no fee for camping there. It sounds like a crude place, but nothing could be further from the truth. It was a fabulously maintained facility along the Little Susitna River. The campsites had paved drives, beautiful picnic tables, and amazing thick steel elevated fire rings. There were about a half dozen campsites and we took the last one, set up our tent, and had our dinner.

After dinner, we did some reading and then took a walk. As we walked down the drive, a porcupine ran out in front of us. Porcupines are fascinating and this was our first close encounter with one. He was scared of us and turned tail and flared his quills in our direction. We tried not to harass him, but I did take a few pictures.

The next morning we woke up to the sun shining bright on the green mountain in front of us. The sun didn’t reach us in the valley, so we packed up our damp tent and cooked breakfast in the cool shade. It was tolerable, but it was only 49 degrees as we pulled out of the campground.

We drove back through Palmer and headed west to Wasilla, then north to Willow. This took us to the other end of Hatcher’s Pass Road. We wanted to explore the whole thing in spite of the pass being closed. From the other end, there is about 10 miles of paved road before more than 20 miles of dirt. The dirt road had seen little traffic this early in the season so it had deep pot holes that made progress slow and painful. We passed a road grader that provided us with a few miles of fresh grade that was soft, but a little sloppy. We arrived at the gate for the pass and were surprised to see it open. We had seen a state truck heading up and it seemed strange that they wouldn’t have closed the gate behind them if the road was closed. Figuring they had opened early, we headed up the pass. We saw the state worker a short ways up and he confirmed that it was open. We were the first car up from the west for the year. The road got steep and sloppy. There were tight switchbacks as the road climbed the last bit to the pass. The lack of guardrails provided the first mountain road experience for us in Alaska, reminiscent of the climb up Pike’s Peak in Colorado, with death waiting for those who inexplicably turn the wheel toward the edge. We stopped at Summit Lake, a small alpine lake just beneath the pass and walked around and enjoyed the view. We drove up and over the pass. We could see to the road at Independence Mine, so we turned around and headed back to the west side. I stopped at the top for a couple pictures.

On the way back down the other side, we took a side road that headed up another drainage. The side road is either called Lucky Shot Mine Road or Craigie Creek Road, depending on your map. In one of our resources, Craigie Creek Road was described as better than the rough dirt road that we took the night before. This was serious misinformation. The road was only one lane wide, almost. Tough scrub brush hung over the trail in places, scraping the sides of the truck. The road surface looked like a dry stream bed. There were puddles of unkown depth and a few places where the beavers had routed water over the trail. We were unsure of what we would do if we encountered another vehicle and made mental notes of every possible wide spot or turn around in case we were going to have to back up. It required constant effort to analyze the rocks in the trail, weaving back and forth to prevent hanging up the differentials, while minimizing the pressure on the sides of the truck from the brush. We were both relieved to arrive at a falling down cabin with room for parking at the designated 2.3 miles in.

We ate lunch at the truck before beginning our hike. Up the mountain, we were expecting a 1.7 mile hike to an alpine lake. It was almost 2.5 miles. The trail climbed gently through the beaver infested valley, passed several abandoned mining structures, before steepening as we entered the snow zone. We climbed the rocks and snow, trying to look ahead for signs of the trail. We finally arrived at a view of the lake nestled in a saddle between two amazing valleys. We were only a mountain ridge away from Independence Mine, but we were clearly alone. The lake was in an avalanche zone and tucked well out of the sun so it was still full of snow. We sat and enjoyed the 360 degree view. The sun was beating down and it felt good to lay on the cool ground. Occasionally we heard loud cracking sounds as the melting snow loosened rocks from the high ridges. A large rock came crashing down from high above, tumbling through the snow and into the lake.

The drive out was challenging, but uneventful. Kris was very relieved, as the backcountry work with the truck was really stressing her. We drove down the mountain and back into Willow. We saw the Willow Creek Resort had camping, so we stopped to confirm that they had tent sites and showers. $16 dollars later we were setting up our tent only about 10 yards from Willow Creek. We showered, had dinner and took a walk. We threw spinners a few times, hoping to find some rainbow trout in some of the deeper pools. The salmon fishing was closed for a few days. ADF&G (Alaska Department of Fish and Game) manages the population of salmon by setting rules for each water as necessary to protect the fishery. This area only opens a few days at a time, then closes for several days. We were lucky to arrive during a closed time, otherwise we might have had trouble getting a campsite.

This morning we did some exploring as we headed back to Anchorage. We drove down a road that heads to a fishing area at the confluence of Willow Creek with the Susitna River. Only in Alaska can you find a well-maintained two-lane road that heads several miles through swamp land to serve nothing more than an occasional use fishing area. This state has some amazing infrastructure for recreation purposes.

Our next stop was another state facility in the Nancy Lakes area. This area is kind of like Minnesota in Alaska. Dozens of large lakes link together or are in such close proximity as to create a canoe trail. The lakes contain decent populations of rainbow trout, dolly varden, and northern pike. The largest lake allows large boats with large motors, but most of the lakes are electric motors at most. We drove six miles down a dirt road to the campground at South Rolly Lake. It was a beautiful campground with numerous lakefront campsites. There are limited facilities, pit toilets, no showers, but water is available. The cost is $10 per night. We made a mental note of the place and will try to include a couple days of camping and canoeing there into our future plans.

Our next stop was at Big Lake. Big Lake has a long history as a resort and it reminded me of many of the resort lakes in Ohio. There is a good deal of commercial and residential development in the area. The lake allows jet skis and water skiing (brrr!). It also has decent fishing. The developed area had a strange empty feel, perhaps like visiting Lake Berlin in the late fall. This is high season, although, admittedly during the week. We didn’t see a single boat under power. It is a reminder that while Alaska may have popular places, the population of the state is still less than that of Cuyahoga County. Popular local activities are a relative concept and in Alaska they just can’t generate the same draw as elsewhere in the world. Regardless, we didn’t add Big Lake to our future plans list.

It was late morning when we arrived at the Alaska Museum of Transportation and Industry. We were greeted by a nice woman who was enthusiastic about their museum. She is the first ‘born in Alaska’ person we have met in our adventures. Her enthusiasm, as she explained, was that much of this history unfolded in her lifetime. She was probably in her 50’s. She explained the layout of the museum and pointed us to a few of her favorite displays.

The museum was overwhelming. They displayed anything interesting that anyone gave them, often without any explanation of the device’s history or purpose. Some things were in bad condition and some had been extensively restored. There was a small building that was well layed out with interesting displays, but most of their displays were outside. They had trains, planes, and automobiles. Kris loved the snowmachines (snowmobiles, for you lower 48’ers), with some old machines that looked nothing like today’s. They had old Caterpillars and John Deere’s. They had a Ford 9N tractor like the one I used to own. The equipment told the story of the development of the state. There was mining equipment, railroad equipment, agricultural equipment and oil company equipment. The most mindboggling thing was the age of the equipment. This skewed sense of history is strange. Many of the true pioneers here were from the same generation as my grandparents.

We finished our trip with a short drive down the other side of the Knik Arm from Anchorage. We stopped at the Iditarod Headquarters and Kris petted some dogs. We stopped at the location from which I shot a picture of an old boat with mountains in the background during our 1999 trip and the boat is still sitting there in about the same condition. It may be a remnant from the 1964 earthquake. We drove till the road turned to dirt trails and turned around before Kris began stressing about the off-road adventuring.

Now we are back in Anchorage, eating halibut and cleaning up barf from our stressed out cat. Well, Kris is cleaning up barf, but I helped with the halibut.