I haven't posted in a while because I got eaten by bears.
Sorry.
In other news, we finally made it off the Kenai peninsula and crossed through Canada (again) into Southeast Alaska. Our first stop was in Haines, a cute town full of Tlingit art. We spent a day here looking for affordable gifts and native experiences, then it was onto the ferry for a trip down the Alaska Marine Highway to Juneau, the state's capital.
This town is spiffy: small and contained, yet full of activity. Juneau is a major stop along cruise lines, so the place fills with people every day. They hit the myriad Alaska-made souvenir shops and seafood restaurants that run up Franklin Street from the Harbor. Just outside of town are several scenic drives along the waterfront or out to the Mendenhall Glacier, where we plan to hike today. There are trails that take you along salmon runs and out to the glacier itself.
Our next stop is anybody's guess. Possibly Sitka, but apparently each of these communities along the coast has it's own unique flavor and appeal. Our ferry tickets entitle us to three stops between Haines and our final destination, Prince Rupert, BC. But which one?! We're also on the lookout for good kayaking! Maybe we'll see some whales!
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
signs of life
A month on the road has put me into a kind of travel funk. KT and I have both reached a bit of a saturation point with seeing things and making decisions, so rather than actually writing anything worthwhile about our visits to Talkeetna, Anchorage, or Homer, I thought I’d do something a little different.
All along the road, we’ve seen signs of all types of things. The further north we reached, the more varied and exotic became the signs warning us of the local wildlife that would likely be walking out in front of the car. Here are some examples.
The antlered animals are pretty standard, right? Here we have deer, elk, and then caribou:
Even before the moose started appearing, there were sightings of bison!
Then we got into moose country. Exciting!
And when we saw our first moose, we sure knew how to recognize it! However, we then started seeing signs for a new variety of moose. Our eyes were constantly scanning the woods and shoulders for this poorly-proportioned and pigeon-toed freak of nature, lest it should amble into our path and obliterate the car.
Thankfully, we never encountered this pitiful creature.
Of course, all along the way we were being warned to beware of wild Canadian coal trucks that could bound into our blind spot at any moment!
And we’re still on the lookout for the elusive wild Northern arrow. It’s habitat has been nearly everywhere, but alas, though we’ve caught sight of all the others along the way, this creature has succeeded in completely avoiding us at every turn.
PS - Do yourself a favor and check this out if you want to know more about our time in spiffy, little Talkeetna.
All along the road, we’ve seen signs of all types of things. The further north we reached, the more varied and exotic became the signs warning us of the local wildlife that would likely be walking out in front of the car. Here are some examples.
The antlered animals are pretty standard, right? Here we have deer, elk, and then caribou:
Even before the moose started appearing, there were sightings of bison!
Then we got into moose country. Exciting!
And when we saw our first moose, we sure knew how to recognize it! However, we then started seeing signs for a new variety of moose. Our eyes were constantly scanning the woods and shoulders for this poorly-proportioned and pigeon-toed freak of nature, lest it should amble into our path and obliterate the car.
Thankfully, we never encountered this pitiful creature.
Of course, all along the way we were being warned to beware of wild Canadian coal trucks that could bound into our blind spot at any moment!
And we’re still on the lookout for the elusive wild Northern arrow. It’s habitat has been nearly everywhere, but alas, though we’ve caught sight of all the others along the way, this creature has succeeded in completely avoiding us at every turn.
PS - Do yourself a favor and check this out if you want to know more about our time in spiffy, little Talkeetna.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
the new pet
Because we didn't get a husky puppy, and we thought we needed SOMETHING to pay attention to, and care for, and feed, we bought...
...a sourdough starter.
Yes. We fretted for a half-hour over whether or not a kitchen tool made with a piece of caribou antler would make it across the border, but it only took five minutes to decide that what we really needed to make this trip exciting was a plastic drink-cup full of fermenting mystery batter.
The sourdough starter comes from a culture that is claimed to be 106 years old. We bought it at the Roadhouse in Talkeetna for $2.50.
We have not yet named the sourdough.
The suggestion box is open.
...a sourdough starter.
Yes. We fretted for a half-hour over whether or not a kitchen tool made with a piece of caribou antler would make it across the border, but it only took five minutes to decide that what we really needed to make this trip exciting was a plastic drink-cup full of fermenting mystery batter.
The sourdough starter comes from a culture that is claimed to be 106 years old. We bought it at the Roadhouse in Talkeetna for $2.50.
We have not yet named the sourdough.
The suggestion box is open.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
denali is REALLY big
This and the next two posts are my account of our trip through Denali National Park.
“When I come back to Denali…”
I can’t believe I heard myself saying these words only minutes after entering the Visitor Center. This place is so big! Too big, actually. 6 million acres big. How do you experience this massive park in two and a half days?
Well, this is how we tried.
Day 1
We checked out the Visitor Center with all its massive displays and 18-minute film of all the things we could’ve been seeing in the park if we weren’t in the Visitor Center.
Then we shuttled out to see the sled dogs. Since the 1920s, the park has maintained a kennel of about 30 dogs—all Alaskan huskies—that aid in winter patrols. The dogs are worked hard during the snowy months, 6-7 days a week, pulling patrol officers, supplies to researchers and campers, and breaking trails for winter recreaters.
In the summer, the dogs are worked far less, performing a few demonstrations a day and taking walks every night. The dogs are so socialized they bear our company with resignation. Some completely ignore us, their great fluffy tails curled over their noses as they sleep on the roofs of their houses. Others lope to the ends of their chains or the doors of their kennels to give us a sniff before offering their backs for a scratch.
After a quick hot chocolate we were ready to conquer Mt. Healy, a 3-4 hour strenuous hike that climbs 1600 feet. The trail was well-maintained, but the switchbacks and hefty inclines were a little more than we were expecting. We reached the lookout, huffing and puffing, looked around and saw… more climbing. The trail looked well-established and there were two other hikers off on a distant peak; how hard could it be? So we set off along the stony backbone of the mountain, following the exact slope of the ridge (no switchbacks this time). The ground squirrels followed us with precocious curiosity, skittering within feet of us for a closer look. We rejoiced with many photos and jokes when we reached the crag at the top. And then we remembered that we had to go back down again…
“When I come back to Denali…”
I can’t believe I heard myself saying these words only minutes after entering the Visitor Center. This place is so big! Too big, actually. 6 million acres big. How do you experience this massive park in two and a half days?
Well, this is how we tried.
Day 1
We checked out the Visitor Center with all its massive displays and 18-minute film of all the things we could’ve been seeing in the park if we weren’t in the Visitor Center.
Then we shuttled out to see the sled dogs. Since the 1920s, the park has maintained a kennel of about 30 dogs—all Alaskan huskies—that aid in winter patrols. The dogs are worked hard during the snowy months, 6-7 days a week, pulling patrol officers, supplies to researchers and campers, and breaking trails for winter recreaters.
In the summer, the dogs are worked far less, performing a few demonstrations a day and taking walks every night. The dogs are so socialized they bear our company with resignation. Some completely ignore us, their great fluffy tails curled over their noses as they sleep on the roofs of their houses. Others lope to the ends of their chains or the doors of their kennels to give us a sniff before offering their backs for a scratch.
After a quick hot chocolate we were ready to conquer Mt. Healy, a 3-4 hour strenuous hike that climbs 1600 feet. The trail was well-maintained, but the switchbacks and hefty inclines were a little more than we were expecting. We reached the lookout, huffing and puffing, looked around and saw… more climbing. The trail looked well-established and there were two other hikers off on a distant peak; how hard could it be? So we set off along the stony backbone of the mountain, following the exact slope of the ridge (no switchbacks this time). The ground squirrels followed us with precocious curiosity, skittering within feet of us for a closer look. We rejoiced with many photos and jokes when we reached the crag at the top. And then we remembered that we had to go back down again…
day 2
Day 2
The second day, we decided to take a bus 65 miles into the park, try to see Denali, and take a hike on the tundra
The four-hour trip out wound along the only road that runs through the park. This 90-mile road is paved only for 15 miles, beyond which only park busses and specially registered private vehicles are permitted. The park decided to preserve the original single lane gravel construction to maintain Denali’s wilderness character. Our driver gave us an informed nature tour, telling us about the animals and their winter habits that they are just now breaking. The road was only opened a few weeks ago and great piles of snow still rest in the gullies on the mountainsides. Snowshoe hairs were everywhere, even squashed in the road.
The only other animal we saw in relative abundance were caribou. We had a few instances of Dall sheep, showing up as distant white specks against the emerald and tan mountainsides. A sow grizzly and her twins also graced our ride, and for a brief, shining moment, a black and brown fox trotted alongside our parked bus. We even saw a ptarmigan, that ill-fated bird that seems to be the primary prey of every creature with teeth.
At the end of our journey waited the newly opened Eielson Visitor Center and a stretch of tundra. We were among the first visitors to the new complex which replaced a much older and more intrusive building. This updated version was recessed into the hillside and was mostly invisible from the road; our bus pulled up and parked on the roof. Down below, the rest of the center housed art exhibits, a great diorama of the mountain, its glaciers, and the many climbing approaches, and a section devoted to the experience of the great mountain in many people’s words and stories. In order to be low-impact, much of the construction was done with recycled and renewable materials, as well as materials reused from the former center. This building, once inspected, is hoped to achieve the Platinum level of LEEDS certification, a green building system.
We rode the bus, saw the building, and then were ready to hit the great outdoors. Just outside of the center was a trail that took us out onto the hillsides of the tundra. We walked along established gravel paths to avoid damaging the fragile permafrost vegetation. Because the latitude and elevation, only a thin layer of topsoil manages to thaw even during the long daylight hours of the summer.
This causes the plants to adapt if they wish to thrive, even survive here. Most species are dwarf to begin with, carpeting the ground with tight, fuzzy leaf-cover and blossoming into miniscule fireworks. Larger species manage only to produce shallow root systems and short crowns, only growing to waist-height. Our trail led us to a couple of forks and since we had time and really wanted to see the gravel Thorofare Riverbed, we chose some less-traveled trails, possibly game trails, down into the ravine. As we descended, we realized that what goes down must come up, and also that the riverbed, massively close as it appeared, would take much longer to reach and probably twice as long to return from than we expected. And that’s just how things are here. Everything appears so close—the mountains, the rivers, the crags—that you can just reach out and grab them. But the proximity is one of the parks many great and humbling deceptions. All these things are so massively huge that they can’t help but seem at arm’s length, even when they are several miles away.
Our last great goal for the day was to try to catch a glimpse of Denali, Athabaskan for “the great one.” The highest peak in North America at 20,320 feet, should be hard to hide, but because of its utter mass and height, the mountain is often said to make its own weather. Warm, moist air is driven north from the Pacific Ocean to run smack into the Alaskan range and the huge mass of Denali, only to be quickly condensed into heavy clouds. 75% of the time, the mountain enshrouds itself in billows of white, and people can visit the park several times without ever catching a glimpse of its crown jewel. Alas, we too, were thwarted in our efforts, but we expected this. And I had a nice time amusing myself listening to all the binoculared visitors around me exclaiming and pointing at some phantom slope or dubious peak, that “just disappeared behind that cloud!”
The second day, we decided to take a bus 65 miles into the park, try to see Denali, and take a hike on the tundra
The four-hour trip out wound along the only road that runs through the park. This 90-mile road is paved only for 15 miles, beyond which only park busses and specially registered private vehicles are permitted. The park decided to preserve the original single lane gravel construction to maintain Denali’s wilderness character. Our driver gave us an informed nature tour, telling us about the animals and their winter habits that they are just now breaking. The road was only opened a few weeks ago and great piles of snow still rest in the gullies on the mountainsides. Snowshoe hairs were everywhere, even squashed in the road.
The only other animal we saw in relative abundance were caribou. We had a few instances of Dall sheep, showing up as distant white specks against the emerald and tan mountainsides. A sow grizzly and her twins also graced our ride, and for a brief, shining moment, a black and brown fox trotted alongside our parked bus. We even saw a ptarmigan, that ill-fated bird that seems to be the primary prey of every creature with teeth.
At the end of our journey waited the newly opened Eielson Visitor Center and a stretch of tundra. We were among the first visitors to the new complex which replaced a much older and more intrusive building. This updated version was recessed into the hillside and was mostly invisible from the road; our bus pulled up and parked on the roof. Down below, the rest of the center housed art exhibits, a great diorama of the mountain, its glaciers, and the many climbing approaches, and a section devoted to the experience of the great mountain in many people’s words and stories. In order to be low-impact, much of the construction was done with recycled and renewable materials, as well as materials reused from the former center. This building, once inspected, is hoped to achieve the Platinum level of LEEDS certification, a green building system.
We rode the bus, saw the building, and then were ready to hit the great outdoors. Just outside of the center was a trail that took us out onto the hillsides of the tundra. We walked along established gravel paths to avoid damaging the fragile permafrost vegetation. Because the latitude and elevation, only a thin layer of topsoil manages to thaw even during the long daylight hours of the summer.
This causes the plants to adapt if they wish to thrive, even survive here. Most species are dwarf to begin with, carpeting the ground with tight, fuzzy leaf-cover and blossoming into miniscule fireworks. Larger species manage only to produce shallow root systems and short crowns, only growing to waist-height. Our trail led us to a couple of forks and since we had time and really wanted to see the gravel Thorofare Riverbed, we chose some less-traveled trails, possibly game trails, down into the ravine. As we descended, we realized that what goes down must come up, and also that the riverbed, massively close as it appeared, would take much longer to reach and probably twice as long to return from than we expected. And that’s just how things are here. Everything appears so close—the mountains, the rivers, the crags—that you can just reach out and grab them. But the proximity is one of the parks many great and humbling deceptions. All these things are so massively huge that they can’t help but seem at arm’s length, even when they are several miles away.
Our last great goal for the day was to try to catch a glimpse of Denali, Athabaskan for “the great one.” The highest peak in North America at 20,320 feet, should be hard to hide, but because of its utter mass and height, the mountain is often said to make its own weather. Warm, moist air is driven north from the Pacific Ocean to run smack into the Alaskan range and the huge mass of Denali, only to be quickly condensed into heavy clouds. 75% of the time, the mountain enshrouds itself in billows of white, and people can visit the park several times without ever catching a glimpse of its crown jewel. Alas, we too, were thwarted in our efforts, but we expected this. And I had a nice time amusing myself listening to all the binoculared visitors around me exclaiming and pointing at some phantom slope or dubious peak, that “just disappeared behind that cloud!”
day 3
On our last day, we checked out the Murie Science Center and learned about Acute Mountain Sickness and the current research surrounding it. This mysterious illness strikes climbers and Denali is the premier place for its study, but it’s a hard nut to crack. Only willing participants can participate in trial studies, and even then the danger level is high, as AMS can quickly lead to fatal syndromes on the frozen, desolate mountain. Much of what has been learned has come from studying climbers who’ve gone through the painful symptoms and syndromes themselves and have had to make emergency descents in the middle of their ambitious climbs.
Our final stop was another short jaunt into the park to picnic on Savage River. This is the last point that private vehicles can drive to along the Park Road. Here are trails into the hills and alongside the gravel riverbed. We took a loop that wound through the bottom of the ravine, and crossed the river twice. There were so many people here it was hard to remember we were in the middle of one of the largest stretches of undeveloped wilderness left in the country. But the path was beautiful and we had our first chance to see some Dall sheep rams from a much closer vantage point. The sheep are entering a funny-looking stage, shedding their heavy winter coats in great patches. The rams, with their regally curved horns, perch on the nearly vertical hillsides and survey the valley in tattered cloaks.
And that was how we said goodbye to Denali, with promises for many return visits.
Our final stop was another short jaunt into the park to picnic on Savage River. This is the last point that private vehicles can drive to along the Park Road. Here are trails into the hills and alongside the gravel riverbed. We took a loop that wound through the bottom of the ravine, and crossed the river twice. There were so many people here it was hard to remember we were in the middle of one of the largest stretches of undeveloped wilderness left in the country. But the path was beautiful and we had our first chance to see some Dall sheep rams from a much closer vantage point. The sheep are entering a funny-looking stage, shedding their heavy winter coats in great patches. The rams, with their regally curved horns, perch on the nearly vertical hillsides and survey the valley in tattered cloaks.
And that was how we said goodbye to Denali, with promises for many return visits.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
north pole
“Where the hell are we?!”
We just turned off of Santa Claus Lane to someone crooning “Chlamydiaaaaaa” over the first radio station we’ve been able to pick up since leaving Tok.
We are in North Pole, Alaska. Population: Tourists. The first thing we saw from the freeway was the giant papier mâché Santa at the entrance to the Santa Land RV Park.
North Pole was established in failed hopes that toy makers would be drawn to the town. Instead, tourists have flocked here to see real-life reindeer, year-round ornament gift shops, and lampposts painted to look like candy canes. The place is now a suburb of Fairbanks and a frightening twilight zone to become ensnared in. The spirit of Christmas, after all, lives here all year long!
We just turned off of Santa Claus Lane to someone crooning “Chlamydiaaaaaa” over the first radio station we’ve been able to pick up since leaving Tok.
We are in North Pole, Alaska. Population: Tourists. The first thing we saw from the freeway was the giant papier mâché Santa at the entrance to the Santa Land RV Park.
North Pole was established in failed hopes that toy makers would be drawn to the town. Instead, tourists have flocked here to see real-life reindeer, year-round ornament gift shops, and lampposts painted to look like candy canes. The place is now a suburb of Fairbanks and a frightening twilight zone to become ensnared in. The spirit of Christmas, after all, lives here all year long!
Friday, June 6, 2008
new posts!
I really need to get a better handle on this...
We've stopped over a day in Tok, Alaska, to do some housekeeping and updating. When the Alaska highway was constructed, Tok ('one toke over the line...') sprang up as a camp for the construction crew. It's often hailed as the "Gateway to Alaska!" because of it's position on the highway.
And that's all I have to say about Tok. Seriously. Chicken was cooler.
I took some time to write about my last few days in the Yukon. They're posted in blogger chronological order, so if you want to read them as they happen, they are listed thus:
And yes, someday there will be some more pictures to go along, but until then, take your time and enjoy the posts. I don't know when the next will come, but I'll try to give you time to digest these ones. Seriously. PLEASE read them!
Thursday, June 5, 2008
dawson city
I'm beginning to notice a trend.
The further we push north into the Yukon, the smaller the towns get. And the dustier. And the older-looking. And the younger?
Dawson city is the last town in the Yukon before you reach the border by the Klondike Loop, and the end of pavement. There isn't even a bridge across the Yukon; you have to drive your car off a gravel pile onto a flat ferry which then cuts a drunken arc across the River to drop you onto another gravel landing on the other side. Once across, the asphalt peters out and you're driving on the Top of the World.
But before all that, you HAVE TO experience Dawson. This town of 1300 in the winter more than doubles with the summer. Youth come from all over the world to fill this anachronistic town. The streets are dirt and there isn't a chain establishment in site. I think it may even be an ordinance to build with clapboard falsefront and paint in garish shades of avon-lady.
Dawson has been meticulously preserved from its gold rush heyday and I think the people who live there actually would be confused if it were any other way. The businesses have names like Klondike Kate's, Diamond Tooth Gerties, and the Triple J Hotel. If you squint (and ignore the cars), it wouldn't take much to see this place as it probably looked a hundred years ago.
But anyway, like I was saying... The deep Yukon cities are peopled with twenty-somethings. College students, travelers, and drop-outs from life find their way into this town and dance for, serve, or guide the gold chasers and RVers of the summer. It's kind of surreal to enter a town and see the crazy-old buildings filled with grungy looking kids ready to feed you schlock or sourdough bread.
And good bunch of them live just a ferry-ride across the river at the Dawson City River Hostel, a cabin rental/campground/giant pit toilet run by a German who spent fifteen years wandering the world on a bike. This place has several rental cabins and a ton of tentsites all over the hillside, along with all-outdoor kitchen facilities, outhouses, and even a wood-fired bathhouse (and was THAT something else, let me tell you). Our host told us that he had 70 campers who were part of the city's platoon of seasonal employees. And the season is just beginning.
And of course, when in Dawson, do as the tourists do. KT and I had read a weird article in an Australian paper about a special drink that you could only order in the Downtown Hotel. By imbibing, you are inducted into the Sourtoe Club, an exclusive organization who's members can claim they've touched their lips to an actual amputated human toe. An old legend spurred a ridiculous tradition that now claims tourist dollars like wildfire. I haven't time for the whole legend, but the long and the short of it is that KT and I each drank a shot of Yukon Jack (major yum, by the way) with a brown, shriveled, dead toe swimming on the bottom. Don't believe me? Here's a pic:
Be on the lookout for a video.
Afterward, the vaudeville at Diamond Tooth Gerties Casino just wasn't quite as impressive...
The further we push north into the Yukon, the smaller the towns get. And the dustier. And the older-looking. And the younger?
Dawson city is the last town in the Yukon before you reach the border by the Klondike Loop, and the end of pavement. There isn't even a bridge across the Yukon; you have to drive your car off a gravel pile onto a flat ferry which then cuts a drunken arc across the River to drop you onto another gravel landing on the other side. Once across, the asphalt peters out and you're driving on the Top of the World.
But before all that, you HAVE TO experience Dawson. This town of 1300 in the winter more than doubles with the summer. Youth come from all over the world to fill this anachronistic town. The streets are dirt and there isn't a chain establishment in site. I think it may even be an ordinance to build with clapboard falsefront and paint in garish shades of avon-lady.
Dawson has been meticulously preserved from its gold rush heyday and I think the people who live there actually would be confused if it were any other way. The businesses have names like Klondike Kate's, Diamond Tooth Gerties, and the Triple J Hotel. If you squint (and ignore the cars), it wouldn't take much to see this place as it probably looked a hundred years ago.
But anyway, like I was saying... The deep Yukon cities are peopled with twenty-somethings. College students, travelers, and drop-outs from life find their way into this town and dance for, serve, or guide the gold chasers and RVers of the summer. It's kind of surreal to enter a town and see the crazy-old buildings filled with grungy looking kids ready to feed you schlock or sourdough bread.
And good bunch of them live just a ferry-ride across the river at the Dawson City River Hostel, a cabin rental/campground/giant pit toilet run by a German who spent fifteen years wandering the world on a bike. This place has several rental cabins and a ton of tentsites all over the hillside, along with all-outdoor kitchen facilities, outhouses, and even a wood-fired bathhouse (and was THAT something else, let me tell you). Our host told us that he had 70 campers who were part of the city's platoon of seasonal employees. And the season is just beginning.
And of course, when in Dawson, do as the tourists do. KT and I had read a weird article in an Australian paper about a special drink that you could only order in the Downtown Hotel. By imbibing, you are inducted into the Sourtoe Club, an exclusive organization who's members can claim they've touched their lips to an actual amputated human toe. An old legend spurred a ridiculous tradition that now claims tourist dollars like wildfire. I haven't time for the whole legend, but the long and the short of it is that KT and I each drank a shot of Yukon Jack (major yum, by the way) with a brown, shriveled, dead toe swimming on the bottom. Don't believe me? Here's a pic:
Be on the lookout for a video.
Afterward, the vaudeville at Diamond Tooth Gerties Casino just wasn't quite as impressive...
whitehorse
Here we are, in the capital of the Yukon: little Whitehorse. We’ve checked in at a neato campground just outside the city along the Yukon River. This place reminds me of a hostel with its funky signage, espresso bar, and internet center in the office.
I think the population of this city must double in the summer with the influx of foreign summer labor. KT and I have been walking around for two days and all we run into are tourists or very young workers who are “just here for the summer.” I guess I can understand. With the twenty-two hours of daylight and beautiful landscape, why wouldn’t this be a summer paradise?
Much of the place is tourist-focused with gold-rush themed shops and souvenir outlets. But the town has a hip scene all of its own away from the mainstream bustle. Coffee shops, new age health centers, and spiffy little shops are tucked away on every block. Bike travel is big here and a walking/biking path lines the Yukon as it passes through town. There’s even a recording studio here, which puts out albums by artists from all over the territory. While KT and I were looking for some home-grown tunes to sample, we were introduced to songwriters who were also Whitehorse teachers, or who drove a bus in the town’s transit system!
The town definitely capitalizes on its history. Museums cover topics from the First Nation groups that live in the area, to transportation, to life in historical Whitehorse. The S.S. Klondike, a paddlewheeler, is beached on the gravel shore of the Yukon and is viewable daily. There are even two vaudeville/cabaret musical numbers that run nightly. We asked if they were geared more to the tourist set, but were assured that the locals get their kicks there, too. Of course, just how local are the locals when they’re all actually from Ontario?
Hot town! Maybe I’ll wend my way back up here someday for a summer job spot. I sure love the sun, and wouldn’t it be worth something to tell people I lived in the Yukon?
I think the population of this city must double in the summer with the influx of foreign summer labor. KT and I have been walking around for two days and all we run into are tourists or very young workers who are “just here for the summer.” I guess I can understand. With the twenty-two hours of daylight and beautiful landscape, why wouldn’t this be a summer paradise?
Much of the place is tourist-focused with gold-rush themed shops and souvenir outlets. But the town has a hip scene all of its own away from the mainstream bustle. Coffee shops, new age health centers, and spiffy little shops are tucked away on every block. Bike travel is big here and a walking/biking path lines the Yukon as it passes through town. There’s even a recording studio here, which puts out albums by artists from all over the territory. While KT and I were looking for some home-grown tunes to sample, we were introduced to songwriters who were also Whitehorse teachers, or who drove a bus in the town’s transit system!
The town definitely capitalizes on its history. Museums cover topics from the First Nation groups that live in the area, to transportation, to life in historical Whitehorse. The S.S. Klondike, a paddlewheeler, is beached on the gravel shore of the Yukon and is viewable daily. There are even two vaudeville/cabaret musical numbers that run nightly. We asked if they were geared more to the tourist set, but were assured that the locals get their kicks there, too. Of course, just how local are the locals when they’re all actually from Ontario?
Hot town! Maybe I’ll wend my way back up here someday for a summer job spot. I sure love the sun, and wouldn’t it be worth something to tell people I lived in the Yukon?
watson lake
We’ve entered the Yukon Territory! Our first stop in this beautiful territory was a small dusty town called Watson Lake. The Visitor’s Center was very helpful in directing us to places to stay in the Yukon, as well as neat sights to see.
The Signpost Forest outside the Visitor’s Center was our primary attraction in this windswept village. What began as a utilitarian signpost pointing the directions and mileage to key points along the new highway became a traveler’s tradition after some of the troops included signs pointing the ways to their hometowns in the States. Ever since, visitors to this otherwise unprepossessing town have been hanging their own signs, license plates, or whatever indications they could to leave evidence of their passing. KT and I wandered, trying to see who could find the most evidence of our home states. Then, we tried to find the sign that came closest to our actual hometowns. KT managed to find one for Reedsport, OR, but I was pleasantly surprised to find one from a town in my own little school district in Central PA. Anybody know which McGarveys from Irvona these may be?
All in all, Pennsylvania didn’t do too badly. Of course, nobody could compare to Germany. I don’t think Germans stay home very well, however. Here’s a representation of the Keystone State, here in little ol’ Watson Lake:
(click the picture for more detail)
The Signpost Forest outside the Visitor’s Center was our primary attraction in this windswept village. What began as a utilitarian signpost pointing the directions and mileage to key points along the new highway became a traveler’s tradition after some of the troops included signs pointing the ways to their hometowns in the States. Ever since, visitors to this otherwise unprepossessing town have been hanging their own signs, license plates, or whatever indications they could to leave evidence of their passing. KT and I wandered, trying to see who could find the most evidence of our home states. Then, we tried to find the sign that came closest to our actual hometowns. KT managed to find one for Reedsport, OR, but I was pleasantly surprised to find one from a town in my own little school district in Central PA. Anybody know which McGarveys from Irvona these may be?
All in all, Pennsylvania didn’t do too badly. Of course, nobody could compare to Germany. I don’t think Germans stay home very well, however. Here’s a representation of the Keystone State, here in little ol’ Watson Lake:
(click the picture for more detail)
liard hot springs
Liard Hot Springs may have been the best camping situation of the trip. The provincial park is home to two thermal springs that create bathing pools of 80 to 127 degree water.
We arrived in time to just miss the last available campsite, but the park officials were so kind they allowed us to pitch our tent in the day use area, just off the parking lot for the same price as a campsite. Money-grubbing bastards.
With our tent pitched, we were off to the springs. And so were 2183 retirees. It was like a scene from Cocoon. We wandered to the far pool which was much less crowded—only one other person showed up before we left—and also cooler. Eventually, we decided to throw in with the older and wiser bunch and check out the near pool. So hot! The heat from the vent that enters the pool is so great you can’t approach it directly. In order to reach the spring, you must direct cooler water up from the bottom—the hottest water is in the top six inches—and mix it up. Even then, it was too hot for me, so I contented myself to sit on the last bench before the hottest section.
The springs here provide a microclimate different than the surrounding area. The ground thaws sooner and with the warmth of the springs beneath, more warm-weather species of plants can thrive here. There are even sixteen varieties of orchids that grow wild around the springs!
One of British Columbia’s great natural wonders, Liard Hot Springs is well worth the trip. I’d even consider staying an extra day here if I had the chance in the future.
We arrived in time to just miss the last available campsite, but the park officials were so kind they allowed us to pitch our tent in the day use area, just off the parking lot for the same price as a campsite. Money-grubbing bastards.
With our tent pitched, we were off to the springs. And so were 2183 retirees. It was like a scene from Cocoon. We wandered to the far pool which was much less crowded—only one other person showed up before we left—and also cooler. Eventually, we decided to throw in with the older and wiser bunch and check out the near pool. So hot! The heat from the vent that enters the pool is so great you can’t approach it directly. In order to reach the spring, you must direct cooler water up from the bottom—the hottest water is in the top six inches—and mix it up. Even then, it was too hot for me, so I contented myself to sit on the last bench before the hottest section.
The springs here provide a microclimate different than the surrounding area. The ground thaws sooner and with the warmth of the springs beneath, more warm-weather species of plants can thrive here. There are even sixteen varieties of orchids that grow wild around the springs!
One of British Columbia’s great natural wonders, Liard Hot Springs is well worth the trip. I’d even consider staying an extra day here if I had the chance in the future.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
alaska and my 100th post!
Wow! There is not enough time for this!
We crossed the border just this afternoon into Chicken, Alaska. Population: 21 in the summer, 6 in the winter.
Our time in the Yukon Territory was just too short. Whitehorse and Dawson City, two gems in the wilderness will beckon me back, I'm sure. There's just too much to say about each (and everything in between) to write now, so I'll hopefully compose something coherent about them later and post it at my next hotspot. Who could've guessed a dirt-road town in the mountains on the Alaskan border (called Chicken, for heaven's sake, because its original settlers couldn't spell 'Ptarmigan') would have free wi-fi? This place doesn't even have power lines or a human waste management system; the restrooms are pit outhouses and all the electricity for the handful of businesses come from generators.
After exploring our camping options ($90 for the only cabin in the whole settlement or tent camping on the rain), we've decided to push on to Tok, where our road brings us back on to the Alaska Highway, which we left for Dawson City. There we face our next big decision: south to Anchorage and the Kenai, or north to Fairbanks and Denali? We'll hit 'em both eventually, but which do we want to do first?
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