Quite the Lifestyle

On any trip you come across hidden gems along the way. We've noticed the RV'ERS   to head to the RV park's that cater specifically to their needs - power hookups, showers, and the ability to step out your door and shake the hand of the RV'ER  next to you. Sophie and I have gone a different route and have found the Alaska State Parks and campgrounds to be generally great places to stay, we must be on to something because we see more Alaska  plates than from out of state, locals always know the best places and we follow their lead heading to a commercial campground only as a last resort.

The other night saw us heading north out of the Denali area. Crossing the bridge over the Nenana river we noticed to our right a nice log giftshop with beautiful flowers and all sorts of nice items to be seen. Turning in we noticed that it was also a campground so we thought we'd check it out.

The Tatlanika campground turned out to be one of those unexpected gems. For $15, about half what the RV park's are charging this year, we had a quiet, clean, and spacious site with a nice river view and they also had warm showers, free Wi-Fi, and power at our campsite so we could charge our electronics. We saw the owner out front mowing grass ("in between rain storms") and found out  he's kept the business running after losing his wife with the hope of someday turning it over to one of his daughters. He's a retired airframe and power plant  (aircraft) mechanic who still flies his own plane from the grass strip next to where RV'S  park for the night. As we do with most Alaskans we chat with we asked "how 'bout those winters?" And like many we speak to he heads south to warmer climates. In his case winter, which is October through April for him, finds him in Belize. In his words, after 50+ winters of dark and cold, "the sun and water ain't  bad."

Out front he had a spectacular garden going. Apparently he's letting some friends who are "living off the grid" do some organic farming. They must be pretty good at it as they have students come up to learn organic farming techniques from them. They sell the produce to the hotels and restaurants serving the crowds in Denali and apparently do well enough that they spend their winters on their sailboat down in Florida.

Inside the gift shop he has a huge Polar bear mounted. It drives home how large Polar bears can be. The mount was a gift from a friend he met while attending airframe and power plant training. He described this friend as appearing to not having two nickels to rub together yet had a beautiful log home full of mounted animals he had hunted around  the world. Turns out his friend had made his fortune in oil and owned lots of 7-11's on the east coast. When leaving Alaska one year he offered up the polar bear on the condition that it came with all the other mounts to the point where the new owner had to build a special building to hold them all.

Outside there were mounted more Moose racks than we could count. The campground  owner had bagged them all over the years. He professed that Moose meat is very delicious and that one full grown Moose can provide for three families. One of the folks I worked with, Todd, is a big hunter and he would be in heaven in Alaska. I know that Todd eats what he hunts and many Alaskans  bank on getting at least one Moose or Caribou  to provide much, if not all of their red meat. The other staple of course is fish and for those in interior Alaska that usually means salmon.

As I mentioned, the owner was also a pilot. Next to his plane were floats that could be fitted to convert to a floatplane. I wondered how they got the floats on the plane and he explained it was about a half day job that entailed trucking the floats to a company that had a 'gin pole' next to a river. He'd fly down and land on their grass strip, they'd lift the plane, switch out the tires for the floats, and the now float plane would be lowered into the adjacent river. He made it all seem very easy. More than 1 in 4 Alaskans has a pilot's license so I guess they get a lot of practice!

All in all, quite a lifestyle and it's hard not to be envious. And next winter? Maybe I need to check out Belize...

Wolves in Denali

She was a beautiful wolf. Nearly 6 feet from tip of tail to velveteen nose. Alpha as men would describe her, she was mistress of her domain leading her pack over lands her forbears had trod for millennium too many to count. Boundless was her domain though on man's maps she was approaching a line beyond which she was no longer safe.

It had been a good summer thus far and the pack was healthy and we'll fed. Rib cages were only still slightly protruding as reminders of the lean times of spring and winter just past. At the pack's slow lope they still covered an enormous amount of territory floating on paws almost the size of a man's hand that seemed to barely touch the earth as the pack glided by.

The shot rang out starkly in the quiet stillness. She sensed the impact but felt no pain. Entering behind her left shoulder the bullet was in her just for a moment before exploding from her side.  The hunter would later speak of having made a clean shot but from her perspective there was nothing clean about it as her life blood pooled on the mossy ground. She knew none of this as she was dead before her stumbling fall drew her to earth.

Unbeknownst to her she had crossed the Park Boundary beyond which she was deemed fair game. Park publications make clear that there are no fences and animals remain free to roam as they have through the ages. Protected within the Park she was as safe as man could keep her; outside the park boundary she was legal quarry.

Her pelt was destined to grace the hunter's wall or perhaps adorn a hood or jacket keeping hands and faces warm, but never again would she trod this great land. She and her kin were marked for the kill if they left the Park.

When last in Denali we had seen a large wolf pack eyeing us from a distance. They faced no threat from us that day but so many have been legally taken through the years that the chances of seeing a wolf are less than that of seeing the Park's namesake mountain.

Her remains will provide for other scavengers. Nature generally wastes very little though to what purposes man may not comprehend. A new Alpha female will  take her place though the pack continues to dwindle. The new Alpha's future too is uncertain by man's intent. I for one will feel lessened if someday wolves no longer wander this great land.

Fifty Shades of Grey Alaska Style

I'm standing in the pouring rain cooking water for breakfast. It's been raining for three days and it shows no sign of stopping. I'd be contemplating my navel but it's safely ensconced under three layers of clothing. By this point my raincoat is more akin to a wetsuit, my wool socks are wishing they'd never left mother sheep, and the water is taking its sweet time coming to a boil.

Oatmeal, preferably hot, is our morning staple as is a hot mug of tea. My lovely wife Sophie, who is several iterations beyond having a bad hair day, is sitting in her camp chair getting an Alaskan facial by blowing in her mug and enjoying the hot steam wafting on her face.  Such are the joys of camping in Alaska. It's the 4th of July weekend and we're at the Byers Lake Alaska State Campground. We have it almost to ourselves as most of the other residents - campers, RV'ers,  out of state tourists and even the Alaskans - have conceded to the rain and headed elsewhere to drier and warmer pastures.

Sitting under our campers awning we ask each other deep philosophical questions such as "What do you want to do today?" And then burst out laughing. The best joke we've heard up here is "What do you call a sunny day in Alaska? Arizona." I can picture my former boss Barbara looking at me with a quizzical expression and asking "So this is why you retired?" And I'd say "Absolutely, positively yes!"

We're trying to wait out the weather in hopes of biking in Denali National  Park in the next year or so rain permitting. From the Visitor Center we'll catch the camper shuttle and take the 3 hour trip 80 miles in to Kantishna at the end of the Park Road. From there they'll drop us off, wish us bon voyage, and allow us the pleasure of cycling back out. Hopefully on a day dry enough to observe  more than just the rain drops dripping from our noses.

Alaska is many things but we have found it, much like on our first trip, nothing so much as a test of patience. Last week we did have several

unexpected clear days and were able to ooh  and aah as Denali made itself visible. Sixteen years ago, during that first trip we had ridden the camper bus back to the Wonder Lake Campground where we stayed for three days with the hope of catching a glance of the mountain. She had graced us with about 15 minutes of clear viewing. Anyone who loves the mountains would consider that a fair bargain as only about 30% of visitors ever see Denali. On the plus side they get some absolutely fantastic (and close up!) pictures of clouds - grey ones, dark grey ones, light grey ones. There must be millions of these photos hanging on walls around the world proudly proclaiming "I was there! See the cloud!"

Mt, McKinley was changed back to its native name of Denali to respect native sensibilities. Naming Mountains is a frivolous effort at best reflecting only man's desire to lay claim to everything on the planet but in Denali they got it right - the "Great One" towers over its neighbors and commands attention and respect even when not seen. It's said that at over 20,000 feet in elevation she makes her own weather so I guess I have her to thank for making me feel like a salmon swimming upstream as I write this in the pouring rain waiting for a window of opportunity that may, or may not, come.

Looking for the Elusive Artic Circle

They call it the 'Haul Road' because that's why it was built to get supplies from Fairbanks  to Prudhoe Bay. It's also referred to as the Dalton  Highway but either way it's a long way to haul anything to the northern end of the earth.

Given our tire adventures earlier in the trip and the reputation  of this stretch of non-payment we were not quite sure we would attempt this part of the journey. Still, when this was still a bike trip in my mind's  eye Prudhoe Bay had always been the goal so after some soul searching  and automotive angst we decided to give 'er a go.

We elected to do it on a Saturday when hopefully the truckers would be all down in Fairbanks enjoying the sites. We were told when busy the Haul Road would see more than 200 or more big rigs all vying to set the land speed record. The road was in remarkably good shape  compared to the gravel sections we experienced in Canada. Perhaps that makes sense - the sections in Canada were gravel because they were tearing the roads up while on the Dalton they apparently work hard to maintain their dirt road. I guess they do that in part so as not to slow those trucks down from making their appointed rounds. Also, with the price of oil being so low drilling and producing activity on the North Slope is somewhat depressed to the point that the Trans-Alaska Pipeline, which runs from Prudhoe Bay in the North to port of Valdez in the South, is running somewhere around half capacity.

The landscape starts in the great Northern Forestdale- mile after mile of unending  trees. As you make your way north at anywhere between 30-50 miles an hour the trees become noticeably shorter and farther north still sparse until you are crossing great sections of open tundra. After several hours you see a sign announcing you have reached the Artic Circle but as hard as we looked we never did find the actual circle. Instead what greets you is a forlorn sign by which everyone has their picture taken as proof that they were HERE.

One couple we met at the sign had driven all the way from Fairbanks  solely to take a picture holding their Trump For President sign. I blogged earlier about the Farthest North Packer Fans but these folks were intent on being recognized as the Farthest North Trump Supporters. They were going to dutifully send their picture into Trump headquarters. Not sure the Trump staff will quite know what to do with it as I'm not certain the Donald quite realizes Alaska is part of the U.S. ("isn't that where that crazy lady could see Russia from her front porch? What was her name?").

One cool thing happened while we were enjoying enjoying our bona-fide 24 hours of sunlight (that's what the Artic Circle represents). It had been a gorgeous day driving up but upon our arrival we were treated to a homegrown, True Blue, Artic Storm - the kind you always hear your local weather person  warning you about. If I could have I would have attached a postage stamp and sent it to all you southerners with hugs and kisses but with the rain, wind, and cold (the stuff Artic storms are known for) it was kind of hard to lick the stamp. So instead Sophie and I did a hilarious version of a Polar Rain Dance and soaked and frozen made it back to the car just in time for the rain faucet to be turned off.

At a BLM cabin 40 miles back at the crossing of the Yukon River (still flowing it's 1,900 miles to the sea) a very nice volunteer lady who winters in the Carolinas gives you an official certificate as proof you had been THERE and back. We didn't get to Prudhoe however which means, you guessed it, we've got to come back. Haven't got her fully convinced but maybe can get Sophie to do the Dalton on two wheels. If there's  anyone else out there who'd like to join us, summer 2017 is less than a year away.

On our way back, about halfway to Fairbanks and about as in the middle of nowhere as I thought I could find we come across a young guy walking the highway pulling a trailer in the back of which was riding Pablo the dog.

Greg was the name of the intrepid hiker, and though he didn't look old enough to shave he had flown to Fairbanks,  hitched a ride to Prudhoe, and was now doing the slow walk South. Ultimate destination? Austin. Texas. A long, long way away. Greg planned to be in Austin (Alaskans  like to point out that their State is 2 1/2 times the size of Texas) by November which means he'd better get a move on. Pablo the Dog was a little the worse for wear finding it tough to handle 30 miles walkies day after day after day. Thus his being tucked quite comfortably in the trailer snoozing away the miles. If you ask me, which you clearly did not, sounds like Pablo the Dog has Greg the Hiker whooped. Either way we loaded Greg up with water and fruit (not much fruit for sale along the Dalton) and gave Pablo one of our pups new dog bones and wished them bon voyage. My feet hurt just thinking about what Greg's attempting but by the time he hits Austin he'll have earned a shave.

Riverboat Queen

As I mentioned in my last blog , my wife Sophie and I had booked two tourist excursions in Fairbanks.  In the morning we toured Gold Dredge #8 and in the afternoon we embarked on a riverboat excursion on the sternwheeler

Discovery. The Discovery is not a historic sternwheeler, having been built specifically for the arduous task of hauling paying tourists 900 at a time. Still, how often do you get to hop on any sternwheeler let alone one hailing from Fairbanks,  Alaska?

The Discovery cruise is as well choreographed as a Disney production and delivers quite an entertaining show. Just a couple of minutes away from the dock and we're treated to a floatplane that 'just happened' to be doing touch and go's. They're even in radio communication with the pilot who gives a play by play of landing and taking off on water with a big ole' stern wheeler bearing down on you.

Next up, a dog kennel featuring the daughter of legendary musher Susan Butcher who won the Iditarod race from Anchorage to Nome 4 times before succumbing  to leukemia  in 2006 at age 51. Her daughter, Tekla, does a great job maintaining the family kennels and puts on a quick mushing demonstration with8 sled dogs pulling her at warp speed on a ATV.

Continuing down the river the guide points out the Alaska way of home construction- million dollar log homes to die for next to riverside shacks not fit to die in. Live and let live is the Alaska credo but even up here it's harder and harder to keep up with the Jones'. Rounding the corner what does appear but a little sleigh and eight tiny reindeer. Well, at least their grown up relatives the Caribou who just happened to be in the neighborhood  as the Discovery paddles by. Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain who let them out of their pen - better to imagine they magically appeared after conquering the majestic  tundra to grace us with their presence.

Finally we get to the Chena  River Village supposedly representing an Athabascan village post introduction to the white man. So it's mainly log cabins and caches but the real Alaska Native guides, high school students earning some cash for college, do a nice job of talking about their culture and answering questions from the tourists. The village even has an old log

cabin post office where Tekla, of the aforementioned Butcher dog kennels is back on hand signing autographs and selling books to pay, not for college, but upkeep of all those dogs who will still need to be fed long after the tourists depart and the river freezes once more.

All in all they do a nice job with the Discovery and it's slow tour along the banks of the not so mighty Chena River  (it's been dammed upstream to help avoid flooding). It's actually rated as one of the top tours in Alaska and as long as you go in expecting a little of the Disney-like touch it's well worth the price of admission.

A Flash in the Pan

Occasionally Sophie and I put on our real tourist hats and set off to see the sites. Fairbanks offers a couple of things you just know are going to be a little hokey but hopefully still a lot of fun. One company runs two of these tourist attractions so credit card in hand we signed up for a tour of Gold Dredge #8 in the morning followed by an excursion on the Riverboat Discovery in the afternoon.

Gold Dredge #8 is similar to the type of mining activity that caused all the piles of rock and gravel around Fairplay, CO. A dredge is a pretty simple concept. It resembles a boat, or rather more a floating barge, located in what is often times a man made lake or pond. At the front end are a series of large ore buckets that eat into the bank ahead of the dredge. The buckets carry the material into giant sorters on the dredge which sorts out the large rocks from the smaller stones and sand which is where the gold, if there is any, will be found. The excess rocks and material are then dumped off the back of the dredge. The lake or pond stays about the same size  but continues to move forward as the dredge processes what's ahead of it.

Dredges can efficiently process a lot of material and can find a lot of gold if any is to be found. In its heyday Dredge #8 was processing up to 4,000 ounces of gold a week making its owners a lot of money while it was operating. The modern-day miners featured in the shows on the Discovery Channel would feel like they had died and gone to heaven if they recovered anywhere near that quantity.

All that is very interesting for engineers and history buffs but for most of the tourists the fun factor came in the form of holding a 10" metal pan and panning for their own gold. I had never panned for gold before and it actually was kind of fun as you swirled and strained the material hoping to catch that glint of real gold. Now to be honest, the material they give you has been "salted" with flakes of the real thing so everyone is guaranteed to, if not strike it rich, at least feel the thrill of catching a flash in the pan.

Combining our finds Sophie and I went into the conveniently adjacent  gift shop to have it weighed and valued. Our combined yield? $36 for about 15 minutes work. So you might be thinking, how can this operation stay in business giving away  real gold? Here's how - in that friendly gift shop they have lockets you can buy so you too can display those beautiful golden flakes you panned yourself. Cost of Sophie's  locket (you really thought there was any real chance of escaping without one?) was $109, thank you very much. I felt like I was at Kohl's  where at checkout they say things like "that'll  be $119, but you saved $230!". When they do that I always expect the difference  back in my pocket but it never seems to work out that way.

Still, Sophie had so much fun and was so excited panning, and actually finding, gold that I went to a Sportsmans Warehouse  and bought my lovely locket-wearing wife her very own gold pan. While there I tried to ignore the bundles of dirt  guaranteeing $XXX amount of gold for $19.99 hanging just above.

When we get back to Denver and check out at Kohl's I'm looking forward to handing the clerk a bag of gold my wife panned out of all the rivers and lakes we passed on our way home. "Here you go young lady, it looks like $119, but it's really $230; can I have my change in small bills?"

Bike to Work Day Alaska Style

One thing I miss about working is that I had the chance to occasionally commute to work by bike. Much to the annoyance of the ever-increasing number of its motorists, Colorado is one bike crazy state. Bike to Work Day, held in June, sees thousands of cyclists head off on their trusty two-wheeled steeds along a system of bike paths that would confuse any cartographer.

People in Colorado actually use their bikes to get around town and to run errands to the store, to Starbucks, to McDonald's.  Many of the large towns have Bike Share programs where you can, armed only with a credit card, use a snazzy looking cruiser bike to remind yourself what painful leg muscles feel like.

Here in Fairbanks they also have a Bike Share program with racks of what appear to be new shiny red bikes just itching to be taken out for a spin. I'm not sure if these bikes are really new or just never used because in our time here I never did see one being ridden. Still they pose nicely for a great picture.

Being retired and visiting the great State of Alaska I wasn't really tuned in to whether they participate in the annual Bike to Work ritual. I'm assuming at least one intrepid Alaskan braved the one day of sunshine by getting out of their truck to attempt this novel way to commute. No excuse for not having the time what with the 24 hours of daylight and all.

My wife Sophie and I have been riding every chance we get. Biking Alaska is a wonderful experience. I don't think Alaskan drivers are quite sure how to handle cyclists  trying to navigate the same gravel roads, pot holes, and frost heaves they are. Still, they have been very courteous and polite. I haven't seen a single finger salute aimed in my direction since we've been here whereas back in Denver that would be an hourly occurrence.

I guess I shouldn't harp on Alaskans not riding their bikes very often. Between their trucks, snow machines, float planes, dog sleds, paddle wheelers, and railroads who has time to break out the lycra hidden under all that fur.