At the end of the Dalton Highway, we had a choice to turn
left to return to Fairbanks or right to visit Manley Hot Springs. It was another new road for us, so we chose
to turn right.
This 70-mile stretch of road began much like the end of the
Dalton. It was gravel but easily
passable. Soon, however, it turned to
dips, bumps, washboards, and deep potholes.
About 35 miles in, we began to see road construction signs and stopped
to wait for a pilot car. An enormous
amount of road equipment covered the area… bulldozers, scrappers, graders,
water trucks, backhoes… you name it.
Evidently the road had gotten so bad in this area that crews were
cutting a new section over a 13-mile stretch.
The construction area was very torn up.
Some areas were so soft that David turned on the 4x4 while I drove.
It took us nearly 45 minutes to make our way through the
construction zone. After that, we were
pleased to see chip seal. It didn’t last
long. Soon the road began again with
washboards and potholes, and we bounced and bumped our way through. About ten miles from the town of Manley, we
saw a hand-made sign that read, “Slow, Firefighters.” As we rounded the bend, all we saw was
scorched earth on both sides of the road, smoldering ground, and rolling
smoke. We passed a firefighter’s camp
and staging area.
We drove across the one-lane bridge to enter Manley, a town
of about 80 folks. Their hot springs are
privately owned, and you must make an appointment to enter them. They boast a lovely old roadhouse. It had a restaurant that seemed to be a
gathering spot for the locals. Because it was nearly five o’clock on a Saturday
afternoon, nothing was open in town except the roadhouse.
We chatted with a local lady at the roadhouse who offered
information about the town and the fire.
Evidently the blaze had shut the road for a time and had come within ten
miles of town. We decided to drive
around town to see what we could see.
Three campsites rest on the edge of the Hot Spring Slough… certainly
not the worst place we had ever camped.
The pit toilets looked horrid… but, again, we’d seen worse. Still, I had this bad feeling in the pit of
my stomach. Yet it was after five in
the evening. Fairbanks was over 160
miles away and easily a three or four hour drive, particularly since we had to
go back through the rough road and construction zone.
I am grateful to have a husband who listens to my
intuition. Although I couldn’t name why
I felt we couldn't stay, we discussed our options while walking Rox at the
little city park. Then we climbed back
in the truck and headed east.
Interestingly enough, it wasn’t until we saw the billows of smoke again
that I understood why I couldn’t stay. We
were ten miles from a burning fire and on the only road in and out.
We again passed the firefighters, then the construction
zone, and found a pull-off about 30 miles from the end of the road. David noticed a small road cut out and walked
over to discover an abandoned hunting camp.
We drove the truck back into a small grove of trees, completely
invisible to anyone passing by on the main road, and boondocked for the
night. It was wonderful to sleep in such
quiet and so far away from danger!
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