Glacier Day

Today we hiked to the mouth of two glaciers.  Worthington is just north of Valdez.  We also hiked onto Matanuska Glacier near Chickaloon.

Worthington Glacier heads on Girls Mountain.  The entire area is covered in a beautiful dark green slate.  We climbed up the rocky morraine, fording icy streams of melt until we were at the foot of the glacier.  It felt good to be hiking again.  Roxanne even took a short swim in the small lake formed by the glacier’s movement.

It was still early in the day, so we drove on toward Palmer.  The spectacular Matanuska Glacier came into view.  Matanuska heads in the Chugach Mountains and treads over 27 miles, reaching widths between two to four miles across.  It is the largest glacier accessible by car in Alaska. 

The road to Matanuska is private property.  The folks who own it charge an access fee.  As we were standing in the parking lot of the fee area, a family spied Rox.  The children asked to pet her while we exchanged cordialities with their parents.  Amazingly, they had flown in from The Woodlands, Texas, to visit Anchorage friends.  On the boat tour in Valdez, we met a couple from Conroe.  What a small world!

We drove nearly to the foot of the glacier and hiked onto rock and ice.  Rivlets of silt-laden melt ran charcoal grey.  By the time we reached solid ice, Roxanne’s feathers were heavy with silt.  The packed ice crunched beneath our feet.  Rox sat only once, discovering that this surface was much too cold for comfort. We walked as far as we could without wearing crampons or hiring a guide.

Thankfully, we had enough water in the truck to rinse off Rox’s paws and belly before she jumped into the back.  We found a nice state campground about a mile from Matanuska.  Tomorrow we will head for Anchorage for a night in a motel to clean up and restock. 

Valdez

We arrived in Valdez on Sunday to more rain.  And the rain has continued almost the entire time that we have been here.  Surrounded by high mountains, Valdez must be stunning in sunshine.  Hopefully, we will see her mountains before we depart.

Valdez has proven to be a wildlife treasure.  Near the fishery, we have seen diving eagles, laughing gulls, dancing seals, playful otters, and hungry bears.  Depending on whether it is low or high tide, visitors catch glimpses of one or more of these marvelous animals.  They are all drawn to the same source:  salmon.

Concerned about the overfishing of salmon, Alaska has developed several fisheries.  The fishery in Valdez stocks pinks.  Extremely successful, there are so many salmon trying to reach their birthing ground that the fishery has made the ladders extremely difficult to traverse, restricting the numbers that return to spawn. 

As a result, many salmon die at the mouth of the ladders.  Along a trail of struggling salmon, a variety of animals come to find a meal.  During the day, eagles and gulls feast.  Late evening, when tourists become fewer, bears come to gorge themselves. 

 In some respects, it feels like total carnage with thousands of desperate salmon struggling to make the distance, dodging talons and teeth and barriers too great to overcome.  Doomed to die, they thrash in puddles of water left after the tide recedes while the sqwaking, laughing gulls peck at them.  I admit that I feel sorry for the salmon.  But this is the cycle of life… and has been since creation.

On our first night visiting the fishery, we witnessed a mother brown bear playing with her three cubs.  An adolescent black bear made his way upstream to catch his dinner.  A pair of eagles shared a meal of freshly caught salmon while gulls hungrily waited for their leftovers.

On Wednesday, we took an all-day boat tour, visiting two tidal glaciers, including the retreating Columbian Glacier and the advancing Meares Glacier.  We shivered as the wind blew off icebergs and the blue glacier face before witnessing the Meares calving.  

Considered a wildlife boat tour, the crew certainly delivered.  We saw many groups of sea lions, harbor seals, and otters.  As we skirted close to an island, we saw a black bear climbing a log.  In open water, a pod of Dall’s porpoise glided past us at lightening speeds.  I was able to photograph the rare and funny horned puffins.  And we were most blessed to see a humpback whale mother and baby.

We were in thick fog when we left and returned to Prince Williams Sound.  One of the ladies who shared their table with us for meals was from Fairbanks.  She told us that the rain was beginning to get to everyone.  With winters being so dark, Alaskans relish the sunlight of summer.  The rain was dampening everyone’s spirits. 

She was showing her childhood friend the Alaskan sites.  We found their company to be delightful and chatted about the shared independent spirits found in both Texans and Alaskans.

We have now traveled the Alaska pipeline from its origin in Prudhoe Bay to its end at the Valdez port.  It is an amazing engineering feat and an example of how environmentalists and commercial interests can work together.  Hopefully tomorrow we will be able to photograph the port that is now barely visible in the fog. 

Today we visited Valdez museums and the old town site that was washed away by the tsunami following the 1964 earthquake.  Once more, we will visit the fishery tonight, hoping for more opportunities to photograph wildlife. 

Tomorrow we leave Valdez to climb to the mouth of Worthington Glacier about thirty miles north.  We will drive to Glenallen or beyond for a campground.  The wind off the glaciers is so frigid that we fear our sleeping bags are too light to keep us warm if we camp near Worthington. 

We will most likely be out of internet access until we reach Anchorage.  Until then, dear friends, vaya con Dios.

Copper River Frenzy

We found a beautiful campsite at Liberty Falls, right next to a racing river that was so cold Roxanne “swam” only once.  She lasted about 20 seconds in the icy glacier flow before bounding back to shore.

Our site is close to the small town of Chitina, which rests between three mountain ranges and the famous Copper River.  Copper River is known for the incredible salmon that run there each year.  It has been a fascinating education, learning about the life of salmon, the territory that they migrate, and the seriousness of fishing them.

We have been introduced to fish wheels, contraptions that run by the river’s current, catching salmon in baskets that then funnel them into a catch basin.  Many fishermen use long dip nets to scoop the struggling salmon from their appointed destination.  Others use fly and tackle to land their prize.  Seagulls hover always around the fishing camps, scavenging carcasses and entrails that are tossed back into the river.

 

Chitina also marks the beginning of the McCarthy Road, an abandoned railroad bed that leads to Kennicott, at one time the largest copper mine in the country.  It is the deepest road that can be traveled into Wrangell-St. Elias National Park and Wildlife Refuge, the largest national park in the United States.

It took over two hours for us to traverse to the end of this 62-mile-long road.  Once there, we hiked a short trail, partially over alpine tundra, to Root Glacier.  

We were closely watched by a large gyrfalcon, the largest and one of the most rare in the falcon family (there are only 500 reported pairs).  She was either over-ambitiously eyeing Roxanne or was trying to move us out of her territory. 

We would have liked to visit McCarthy and Kennicott.  But the now abandoned Kennicott mine is closed to car traffic and must be traversed ten miles round trip by foot or by purchasing a ticket for a shuttle bus.  With a rather large number of tourists, having Roxanne in tow, and the weather finally warm, we opted not to visit the mine.

We returned along the same path, wanting photos of the fish wheels and salmon fishers.  Nearing the Copper River, David spied a pair of eagles.  They seemed quite uninterested that I was eagerly snapping photos.  Suddenly, another eagle flew overhead and both birds flared.  It was then that we saw the eaglet, freshly fledged on the hillside.  She launched into the air soon after we spied her.

Exhilarated from the photos, we then ventured down to the river’s edge to photograph fish wheels and the fishing frenzy.  RVs and campers lined the river's edge, while fish wheels lined the river.  

We returned to Ozzie, filled with enthusiasm.  Reluctant to leave our beautiful camping spot, the rain began again in the evening, however, making it easier to pack up for our next destination:  Valdez.  

Alaska on Dwellable

Ode to Paul

While you’re being poked and prodded,

Lying in a bed that’s somewhat flat,

We thought you might need a distraction

Like views from underneath a hat.

This hat now belongs to your brother.

A gift to him from you.

It’s brought many years of pleasure.

Now he’d like to share the view.

It’s been to Spain, up mountains high,

And pristine valleys green.

Now it’s on a trip to Alaska

Where the sun is always seen.

It has felt its share of raindrops,

And is looking somewhat flat,

From being rolled on by a Golden

Who doesn’t comprehend a hat.

So far it’s seen the Haul Road

And eagles taking flight…

A glacier here, a mountain there,

And folks looking for salmon to bite.

But just in case you’re thinking

That all is quite serene,

Remember that we’re sleeping three

In smaller than a queen.

And one of us is that Golden

Who loves to run in muck.

And we’ve spent 7,000 miles

In the confines of a truck.

But mostly all is blissfull,

With adventures at our door.

Even though, at our age,

Miles of hiking makes us sore.

Tomorrow may find moose or ram,

Or possibly bear scat!

Or miles and more of travel

Hoping tires don’t go flat.

But when we see the ocean

With iceflows drawing near,

Or view a mama grizzly

Or muskox, or reindeer,

You need to know that with each view

You’re in our hearts and that

We think of you and pray for you,

Wishing you were in this hat.

There are no stars to wish on

With a sun that never sets

We know prayers for you

To heaven will be our surest bet.

Our ode is almost finished now

But before we draw a close,

We hope that you now know for sure

The reason for this prose…

That when you’re poked and prodded

Lying on a bed that’s somewhat flat,

That you close your eyes and think of

The view from underneath this hat!

PS  David’s brother is in the hospital.  We ask for all of our prayer warrior friends to join together to ask the Great Physician to grant Paul’s full recovery.  Thanks to each of you!

Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head

Rumor has it that Denali has a rather large mountain at its center.  We have yet to be persuaded.  The entire state seems to be engulfed in rain clouds, with barely a mountain in sight.

After leaving Fairbanks, we drove with high hopes to Denali.  Wildlife should be abundant there.  It was the evening before our 34^th wedding anniversary. 

With each passing mile, however, clouds began to darken the skies and seemed intent on hovering over Denali.  When we reached the park, we discovered that all the campgrounds were full.  Folks taking bus tours complained that the windows were so filthy from the rain and puddle spray that they could hardly see any wildlife that the driver spied.  The crowds and misty rain led us to reevaluate, particularly when the weather forecasts predicted more of the same for days to come. 

We found a campground (no more than a parking lot) about thirty miles out of Denali that had space available.  We camped the night and decided to go up the Denali Highway (Hwy. 8) and travel on to Valdez.  We would make a return trip to Denali after touring the Kenai Peninsula, in hopes that the crowds would wane.

We awoke to rain, which worsened as the day progressed.  We spied a few animals… a moose peaking through the brush and two caribou.  Everyone else seemed hunkered down, waiting for better weather.

We crossed Maclaren Summit in poor visibility and warmed up at Maclaren Lodge with a hot breakfast and good coffee.  We asked our server if she knew the forecast.  She peered out the window and said rather dryly, “It looks like rain.”

We stopped at a roadside pullout to view the Maclaren Glacier.  The wind blew off the glacier so cold that we bundled in another layer of clothes.  By the time we hit Gajona Junction, we felt exhausted.  We opted for a cabin and hot showers as an anniversary gift and determined to drive to the Wrangell-St. Elias National Park and Refuge, hoping for better weather.      

Rain, however, continues to fall everywhere we go.  Many Alaskans have told us that this is the wettest July in over ten years.  Kodiak Loop to Dawson City and Chicken has washed out.  In fact, several campers were stranded until road crews could build a catwalk to escort them to dry ground.  The road has since washed out again.  At this time, we’re not sure if we will make it to Dawson City.

A little rain won’t get us down, however… in all our years of camping, we have only bailed out once for rain.  I’m certain sons Ben and Dave remember well that experience! 

We have been out of internet access for nearly a week, so this is posting late.  We’ll catch up over the next few days.  Until then, we’re wearing rain gear and keeping an eye out for those reported mountains! 

Goodbye to Fairbanks

Tomorrow we hit the road again with Denali as our destination.  We say a fond farewell to Fairbanks.  We have made new friends in the Braniff's, the owners of Gram's Cabins.  Today we also were delighted to meet with David's colleague Cliff (who retired days after David), and had lunch with him, his bride, and the wonderful couple they are traveling with through Alaska.

Fairbanks is a sophisticated little city full of fun things to visit and do.  We thoroughly enjoyed our tour of the University of Alaska's Museum of the North and their Large Animal Research Center (which studies Arctic mammals, including musk ox and caribou).

We also visited Creamer's Waterfowl Wildlife Refuge, a wonderful park filled with hiking trails that welcomed Roxanne to walk with us.  When we arrived at the refuge gates, I saw dozens upon dozens of Sand Hill cranes.  These stunning birds are one of two crane species living in the United States.

It was yet another deja vu moment for me.  Like Canada geese, Sand Hill cranes winter near my childhood home.  I remember with great fondness my uncle and I crawling up a sandy incline on our bellies to see birds as Uncle Bill said, "So important that the government protects them."

R-2 is fully serviced.  In fact, the great Nissan dealer here was even able to install a new windshield washer fluid tank.  The sun is shining, and we're ready to get back on the road again.

So adios, Fairbanks.  You have provided information and memories worth keeping.

Fairbanks on Dwellable

Full Circle

As a child, every autumn brought anticipation. I would lie in my narrow bed, listening closely for the first song of Canada geese.

At that young age, it seemed almost as if the geese brought winter to Texas. They filled the air with their dark, arrow-patterned clouds, riding wind currents ahead of winter’s first blue norther.

Shortly after their arrival, temperatures dropped nearly twenty degrees in as many minutes. After our long summer, the welcomed chill sent us scurrying for quilts and sweaters.

These birds came to glean what was left of maize and corn from the barren pastureland surrounding our ranch. Each fall when they returned, they were like long-lost friends who brought the gift of winter with them.

I grew up on the coastal plains of south Texas. My grandfather’s “far pasture” was a mere stone’s throw from the Aransas Wildlife Refuge. We sat directly on the central migratory flyway. In this part of the world, seasons change subtly with the direction of winds and the songs of birds.

So what does all of this have to do with Alaska? When David and I drove into Deadhorse, I laughed outloud and told him that I felt like I had come home. I was surrounded by coastal plains. I could smell the sea again. Marshes, while crusted in snow, looked like the ones from my childhood home. The rain and damp, chilling winds felt exactly like a Texas winter day. I called my mother to tell her that after 6,500 miles, I had wound up right where I started.

Yet I also found something tremendously different here. After all of those years of seeing Canada geese, I had never once seen a gosling… until Prudhoe Bay.

I was absolutely mesmerized to find that I had finally come full circle. Raised in the winter home of such splendid birds as North America’s only two cranes, the whoopers and sand hills, and Canada geese and terns and peregrine falcons, I now knew where they nested and fledged their young. I knew the origin of Arctic winds that in a few more months would blow southwesterly all the way to a sliver of Texas coastline. And I, myself, had now driven the distance and direction those beating, slender wings fly as they migrate each year to bring the song of geese to wanting ears.

The words of Ecclesiastics fill my head… to every thing there is a season. Above the Arctic Circle in the summer of my life, I found my childhood home in winter.

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, a time to reap that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.
(Ecclesiastes 3:1-11) 

Yet again, I am grateful and humbled at the gifts of this season. My prayer is that you also find the blessing of coming full circle.

The Dalton Gang

We expected to see wildlife on the Haul Road... lots of it.  The camera was ever-ready between us as we searched the horizon for signs of caribou, bear, and moose.  The entire length of the Dalton Highway, however, we saw nothing larger than a scurrying ground squirrel.

When we took the Deadhorse tour, all of our companions told similar stories.  The bus driver said that no more than three weeks ago that the bus had been halted by nearly 3,000 caribou migrating across the road.  We saw waterfowl on the tour but no mammals.  All of us assumed that the weather or timing would continue to keep them out of sight.

Nearly an hour out of Deadhorse, my camera rested in its case as we conversed about the many blessings we had seen.  Clouds hung their heads on the road as it misted rain.

At first, it seemed like huge, dark boulders had been placed in the road ahead of us.  Within a nanosecond, however, both of us shouted as I grabbed for the camera.  Perhaps the rarest privilege of all stood before us... an entire herd of musk ox appeared from the fog!  As David said, it looked exactly as if the Dalton gang were heading for a show down!

David quickly pulled over to keep from spooking the herd.  I gingerly got out of the truck and started shooting photos.  The herd seemed most uninterested in us.  They meandered across the road.  At one point, one of the cows gazed steadily at me, checking to see if I was friend or foe.  Satisfied that I was no threat, she continued on with the herd.

Musk ox were either eradicated by predator or humans from the Arctic Circle.  We learned from a tour of the University of Alaska Large Animal Research Center that these large, stocky mammals are more closely related to goats than oxen.  Their name comes from their build and size.  Standing less than four foot at the shoulders, they can weigh in excess of 800 pounds.

These animals are made perfectly to fit the Arctic tundra, preferring icy coastland to deep snow and forest.  They are covered with long, shaggy fur and qiveut, a downy layer that insulates them from the harsh Arctic wind.  Baby calves are born with an entire coat of qiveut which keeps them warm in temperatures as low as -30 degrees.  Babies are seldom seen because they often hide under their mother's bellies for further protection and warmth.

Herding animals, musk ox fiercely protect their young.  If a predator approaches, the herd circles around the calves, standing shoulder to shoulder with their rumps toward the center.   Females are equipped with sharp tips on their horns to gouge predators.  The bulls have thick horn "bosses" or armour on their foreheads and can either ram or gore predators.

In 1935, Greenland provided a seed herd to reintroduce musk ox to Alaska.  Thirty-four musk ox were brought to Nunivak Island.  The herd grew to 700, and several groups were relocated to similar habitat.

Approximately 2,300 musk ox reside in Alaska.  The herd we saw outside of Deadhorse numbered around 16 members.  How grateful we are to have seen them!

The Haul Road

The Haul Road is now a memory... but what a memory it is!!!  We are glowing from sheer delight.  

Just yesterday morning, we dipped our fingers in the Arctic Ocean.  The wind chill off Prudhoe Bay was around 25 degrees and absolutely bone-chilling for this Texan.  Frothy ice formed on the windward side of the inlet.  Our tour guide told us that the bay is ice-free for only 65 days each year.  

July is this area’s rainy season.  It certainly proved to be true.  Except for the first hour or so, it rained the entire trip.  As you can see by the photos, the Xterra became so caked in mud that we had at least three inches of goo stacked on the running boards and bumper.  The rear window and hatch were caked with a clay and mud mix.  Our windshield wiper fluid tank sprang a leak, so we had no way to squirt the glass clean.  David kept scraping the taillights just so folks could tell if we were braking.

We followed the Alaska pipeline nearly the entire 416 miles to Deadhorse.  It is truly an engineering masterpiece.  We crossed the Arctic Circle at Mile Marker 115.    


Haul Road was in surprisingly good condition in some areas.  In fact, about 80 miles of the Dalton Highway could be a Texas back road.  In others areas, the road had deep potholes and jarring washboards.  Some areas were wide enough for trucks to pass comfortably while other sections were narrow aisles between sheer drop offs.  Many areas were under construction (which can only be done during the summer in this latitude).  We had to wait for pilot cars to lead us through four or five sections.  

Weather played havoc the entire trip.   On-coming 18-wheelers could not help but douse us in a mix of rain and mud.  As we crested Atigun Pass, clouds smothered the mountains, leaving visibility to about 30 feet. 

The back half of the Haul Road (past the Arctic Circle) is mostly gravel and dirt.  The rain made it slick and treacherous.  Several times we popped the Xterra into 4-wheel high as a precautionary belt and suspenders move to keep us “between the ditchs” on slippery slopes and steep dips through the Brooks range.  

Many times we were grateful for all the years of off road traveling that we have taken.  While not as slick and washboarded as Chaco Canyon in wet weather, the Haul Road is 416 miles one way rather than Chaco's 28 miles.  While not as steep and switch backed as the Alpine Loop, the Haul Road has working big rigs, road crews, and soft tundra, each bringing their own challenges.

As the rain continued, the road deteriorated substantially over the next 24 hours.  By the time we hit Nugget Pit on the return trip, the road was a continuous ribbon of potholes and sludge.  We dropped speed to 15 miles per hour and still had to hold jaws and bodies rigid.  

Deadhorse was fascinating.  It is not a town at all but rather a working compound.  Only three or four people live there full time.  The remainder are employees of BP, Phillips, Conoco-Phillips, Schlumberge, Halliburton, and dozens of other oil-related or environmental companies.  The average employee works an 84-hour week, two on, two off.  Before we left yesterday, we took a tour through the emcampment, visiting oilrigs, drilling sites, and the Arctic Ocean.  

We slept in the back of the Xterra the three nights that we spent on the Haul Road.  We made Coldfoot the first night and stayed in the lovely Marion Campground, sharing a wine and cheese party in our "cozy" quarters, amidst rain and falling temperatures.  

The second night, since all the motels we checked were either full or would not accept Roxanne, we camped again.  The folks at Arctic Caribou Inn in Prudhoe Bay were kind enough to allow us to spend a sunlit night behind their hotel.  Temperatures dropped to the mid-30s.  Thankfully, our very large Golden Retriever warmed our feet.

Last evening, we slept in a BLM campsite on the Arctic Circle, warding off swarms of mosquitoes and trying to keep Roxanne mud free.  


As we left the Dalton Highway behind us, we were grateful for our safe passage and tipped our hats to those seasoned truckers who continue to deliver goods on the Haul Road through sludge, grit, and ice.

After five cycles at the car wash to clean off mud (followed by David knocking off another several pounds from the wheel rims to keep them from shimmying), tonight we are back at Gram's Cabin, enjoying such luxuries as fresh showers, flush johns, clean linens, and the accoutrements of home.  

In the next several posts, we will share more of our journey.  Until then, we have the blackout shades drawn in the cabin and will try to sleep once more in the land of the midnight sun.  At least in Fairbanks, the sun sets for at least three hours!  Thankfully, July 22nd marks the beginning of progressively longer nightfalls for those of us accustomed to having a starlit rather than sunlit night!

Fairbanks on Dwellable