pioneer park & moose attacks

So today we tried to leave Fairbanks.

Our first stop was the grocery store to exchange some questionable cheese. A half-hour later (it was a sixteen-ounce block; I shudder to think what any more items would’ve taken), we found ourselves in Pioneer Park, an all-things-Alaska-culture-based theme park. I couldn’t help but think TOURISM CENTRAL when the 19th Century model train ran behind the billboard letters at the main gate. But KT assured me that it was a popular attraction among the locals, too, as a friend she made last night told her. Her friend decided to settle in Alaska three years ago after living in New York most of her life. Not convinced, I made KT ask some random passers-by, one of whom actually was from Fairbanks. Apparently, the locals get their kicks there before Memorial Day weekend, and then laugh and point as the tourists fill the place up and get gouged for the rest of the summer.

Anyway, we toured a steam boat that claimed to be the second largest wooden boat in existence, wandered around original cabins that had been moved to this park and converted into souvenir shops and restaurants, and found bubble tea. This was the only place in Fairbanks that sold it, so said our restaurateur. “But there are two in Anchorage! And there’s sushi everywhere. Just don’t get any from Tokyo Express! Oh, and if you want, I can give you some bubble tea mix! I used it once for a class I taught. But if you want to order your own, don’t get it from this company! It’s too expensive!” And that’s how I walked out of a gold rush cabin pretending to be a tea house with a package of expensive lychee-flavored tea mix (“And you can even have the scoop! I only used it once!”) in my pocket. The customs officials are going to have a field day, I can just see it….

All oddities aside, however, we did find a couple interesting exhibits on the native culture. One cabin was a museum of artifacts made from skins, bones, and birch with descriptions of their uses in Athabaskan life. We learned a bit about traditional qayaqs (think kayak) made by stretching seal skins over wooden frames. It’s surprising and a bit discouraging to learn how few people actually still know this skill. Another cabin was devoted to the World Eskimo-Indian Olympics, a competition began in the 60s based on native skills such as a two-footed high kick, leg wrestling, a one-armed reach, and nulukatug—throwing someone high into the air from a blanket in search of whales and game. The games were formed as a way to help keep some native culture alive and instill unity and pride. They’re held yearly in July; I’d love to see them someday.

We left the park on a mission: find a place to dispose of our empty propane bottle. We tried the obvious places first. You know, campgrounds and gas stations that sell propane. And of course, we ran into a lot of “you can’t just throw that away, you know! Oh, no, we don’t accept them either; we’d just throw ‘em out,” before getting lost in backwoods Fairbanks. Finally, after a fifteen minute drive in a circle, we found a noisy, filthy transfer station just outside of the city on the opposite end that we needed. I crossed my fingers as I placed the bottle in a cardboard box labeled ‘propane tanks’ with permanent maker and told KT to get us out of there.

We reached Denali National Park at around 7:30 this evening to discover that their campsites were full, so we needed to find a campground among the thousands in the Denali Resort Ghetto just outside the park. The nice young man at the help desk gave us some phone numbers but DEFINITELY DID NOT suggest a nice one right on the river, so we made a call and found a nice place right on the river with some sites open. On arrival, we were greeted by two people who I’m pretty sure weren’t old enough to have work papers, let alone be managing the evening shift at a campground. Nonetheless we were directed to the sites and we picked our way down to the river.

We were making quite a ruckus and only marginally paying attention to where we were going in the crowded campground when quite suddenly about twenty people all shouted, “Look out! Move!” all at once. Not ten feet from us were a cow moose and her calf. Not one second from then was she upon us and nearly crushing KT beneath her hooves. I had just enough time to catch the great lumbering brown shape come crashing through the trees and I heard the snorts that KT surely must’ve felt on her own face. And that quickly, we were out of the way and she was plodding back down to the waterside next to her calf. We were very lucky and very shaken up—moose attacks account for more deaths than encounters with grizzlies.

The moose decided to hang out on the bank for a while and we decided to pitch our tent a little further inland.