Chapter One
Riding the Golden Circle
June 14 Juneau
After an 11 year absence, we were back in the “Last Frontier,” our home for 18 years, Alaska. I must admit that the heart rate sped a bit, my eyeballs probably leaked one or two involuntary tears, and that I couldn’t help but bore my friends with a plethora of useless Alaska trivia. In other words, even though I was in grey, overcast Juneau, a thousand miles from my home on the Bristol Bay, I was damned excited to be back in the Great Land.
Our first mission was a sleep deprived, adrenaline infused shopping mission to Costco, where our group spent north of $700 on food and beer. Unfortunately, we were too late to partake in the Alaska Brewery Tour, but we did squeeze in a few rounds of their fine brews at the Hanger as we waited for a table. The meal, a $25 basket of fried halibut fish and chips was tolerable to eat, but awoke me at 2:00 A.M. for a panicked sprint to the bathroom. I barely made it.
June 15 Haines
The ferry ride from Juneau to Haines was pleasant. We started out at Auke Bay, where we watched four eagles diving repeatedly for some small mystery fish. As soon as the boat pulled out of the port, we stared up at the rugged peaks of the Coastal Range and admired numerous sheets of glacial snow and ice extending down the mountainside. The overcast day took a turn for the worst, as a light rain started to pound off the ferry’s front picture windows.
We no more got into our rooms at our Haines hotel than the sun made his first appearance on our Alaska tour. Kim and I worked as a well oiled machine in putting our Bike Fridays together, and then it was off to the Haines Brewing Company, where we sampled several different beers while basking on their sun drenched back patio.
Dinner was a very, very large pizza at the rustic Fireweed Restaurant overlooking the bay. I thought I would be able to devour whole thing myself, I was that hungry, but we ended up taking half of it back to our hotel room. I got a stern Kim lecture for my big eyeballs in ordering the super large, but felt better about the whole equation when I ate the entire remains for breakfast the next morning.
Haines, Alaska, when the sun is shining, may be one of the most spectacular places on Earth. Huge, rugged, snow capped mountains surround the quaint little fishing village on all sides, and as your eye moves south, you look down on the placidly blue waters of the Lynn Canal. Large conifers carpet the hillsides. The restored multistoried, Victorian looking buildings of an old U.S. military installation overlook the community, with a towering Holland Cruise Line ship sitting in the harbor. It is a living, functioning postcard for the Alaska Department of Tourism.
June 16 Five Mile Creek (rode 53 miles)
We were finally on our bikes! The first miles out of Haines ran along the Chilkat River, a fast flowing glacial body of water. Lush, green mountains lined both sides of the road. Brilliant crops of small purple, Vetch, or Wild Sweet Pea, and red, star shaped Columbine dazzled my eyeballs.
I pulled off the highway to photograph an Alaska Fish and Game fish wheel, which they were using to count and tag King Salmon. Next came the Chilkat Eagle Preserve. Although I only spotted one mature Bald Eagle, one could see how the banks would be lined during the salmon run. The views continued to stun. I looked upriver over the braided channels of the silty, gray water, and peered at the white peaks of the St. Elias Range in Canada.
A few miles after stopping for a caramel roll and coffee at the Mile 33 Outpost, we were standing at the Canadian border. We chatted with the customs officer, asking him way more questions than he had for us. Thankfully, he told us about a great camping site off the highway at Five Mile Creek, where we quickly set up our tents and settled into our home for the night. A huge pile of bear scat lay only ten yards from our tent, which would normally give me pause; however, I was so tired that I could have been repeatedly mauled during the night and I doubt if I would have even rolled over.
Perhaps the most significant feature of the ride was the endless, enormous piles of bear scat all over the highway. We were told that the bear flock to the highway this time of year to eat the tender shoots of new grass and abundant dandelion in the ditches. Even though I didn’t see a bear, I rode somewhat nervously, knowing that they were laying in the brush right off the highway. My fellow rider, Kem Cooper, from Kansas, took home the award for wildlife spotting, seeing a large brown bear and a cow moose.
June 17 Million Dollar Falls (rode 51 miles)
Little did I know that it was to be one of the epic days of my life.
We woke to light drizzle and brisk temperatures. After throwing down at least four cups of coffee and scarfing down Ron and Kem’s pancake breakfast in the cozy confines of the Book’s trailer (all 12 of us were packed into a pull trailer that comfortably fits two), we hit the road for the long 12 mile, 2000 foot climb to the pass.
Initially, all was well, even though the wind was roaring and driving rain squalls were pounding off my body. I had spent big dollars buying the best cold weather biking gear I could find, so I was actually quite comfortable while climbing, even though I could clearly see my breath every time I exhaled.
Sadly, I finally reached the mountain pass, over 3000 feet above sea level, where the temperature was hovering around 38 degrees. Thinking I would be too hot in my Patagonia Nano, I had left it in the sag car, which I hadn’t seen for over an hour.
The cold ripped through my body as my red Pocket Rocket screamed down the always curving and twisting highway at 30 mph. The rain then changed to a wet sleet, which burned the skin of my face violently. It was beyond HELL. I was so miserable. My feet were by now frozen chunks of ice and my fingers had started to tingle, showing the first signs of frost bite. I couldn’t stop, because I had nothing on to seal in my body heat, but a flimsy base layer, a light short sleeve jersey and a rain coat.
I pedaled on, mile after painful mile. My high tech, internal gas gauge was starting to flash its “empty” warning light. Apparently, shivering is not good for fuel economy. I was cold, I was hungry, I was miserable.
The answer to my prayers came at the 33 mile mark. Linda’s dark green Honda slowly rolled up the highway in back of me, bringing a roast beef wrap and more importantly, my source of warmth, my beloved Nano.
The rest of the ride was miserable, but doable. My half frozen body really lacked the flexibility to easily move from the one position to another on my handlebars. Braking on the long, fast downhills became way too interesting, as my mostly frozen digits could barely stretch to reach the levers. I’m usually somewhat aggressive in my riding style, but by the end of this day, you could have called me “Church Mouse Dave.” It would have fit perfectly.
I was dreading setting up camp in the cold rain. Thankfully, when I rolled into the Million Dollar Campground, the hero of modern Canada, our friend and riding team mate, Curt Bomesberger, stood in the park’s large outdoor, covered kitchen facility feeding a wood stove cords of cut up spruce. All we had to do was strip off our wet bike gear and rotate our frozen bodies inches away from the stove. Slowly, life came back to my frozen appendages, and with beer and a little whiskey, happiness found its way back into my “Tour of the Golden Circle.”
June 17 The Cabin
A kind hearted ranger had allowed us to set up our tents in the campground’s community kitchen, which totally saved us from a punishing night. It poured all night long and we awoke to frigid temperatures and a steady rainfall.
When we found out that the 1300 biker Haines Junction to Haines bike race had been cancelled, I felt a sense of relief. After all, if the big boys, the hard core pros weren’t going to ride, we wouldn’t. Or would we? Initially, our fearless leader, the South Dakota Terror, was all for saddling up and toughing out the elements. Thankfully, Bruce and Linda took their Honda up to survey the next mountain pass, where they found 35 degrees, snow and a slushy road. We didn’t ride! Yeah!
Our next home was at a rustic cabin resort across the highway from Kluane National Park. After we settled into our rooms, the sun blasted its way through the remaining clouds and heated the face of the Earth measurably. Out popped an absolutely magnificent mountain range, the St. Elias Range. I went out to walk around for a few minutes and about four miles later found my way back to the cabin. It was that beautiful. I strolled the shoreline of Lake Kathleen, ogling the fresh termination dust on the sides of the mountains, the shutter of my I Phone clicking again and again. The air was so clear, the vistas so incomparable, I was sure that I was living on one of the pages of your National Geographic magazine.
We converged on Ron and Kem’s cabin that night for an extended happy hour and to eat a creatively produced dinner of assorted leftovers. It was really a fun evening, sitting on their front porch, soaking in the sun’s rays, after living through the Yukon’s worst June storm since 2008.
June 18 Champaign Campground 62 miles
We awoke to the most beautiful morning in the history of the Earth. The sun was shining, there was little wind and the snow covered St. Elias Range was simply beyond words beautiful.
After devouring Wenda’s breakfast at the Cabin B&B, we found ourselves flying down the nicest stretch of road in the Yukon. It was a game of Leap Frog, where I stopped to take photos and was passed by my buddies, only to pass them a few minutes later as they stood doing the same. It was that beautiful, that majestic.
We stopped briefly in Haines Junction to have a caramel roll at a bakery and to visit the local visitor center, which had some excellent exhibits of the local Native people.
The Fridays then rolled out onto the Alaskan Highway, which wasn’t nearly as exciting as the morning ride. We actually had a bit of traffic, the road’s condition was marginal at best, and the scenery, although pleasant, wasn’t exactly eye popping.
For the first time on the tour, I was actually a little too warm. It must have been 70 degrees and I was overdressed, wearing my winter jersey, after my near miss at being hypothermic two days previous.
The long day in the saddle was just starting to speak to me when I spotted a small pointed sign for the Indian village of Champaign, population 18. We camped in a large grassy opening and had use of a wonderful but rustic kitchen. A flock of the local mosquitos found us immediately, but they were so slow and stupid, it was almost pitiful. It was child’s play to slaughter them by the hundreds. God help us if they ever were bred with the superior Minnesota mosquito, which are quick as cats and smarter than most American third graders. They would have to depopulate the Yukon.
The highlight of our stay was a presentation by Meta, who toured us through displays depicting the traditional culture of the Tutchone people. She covered everything from food gathering to the traditional shelters. She was extremely articulate and I found her presentation very interesting.
June 19 Whitehorse 40 miles
Our one day of sunny, warm weather left us and the Yukon’s June gloom returned with a biting wind out of the Southeast, and at the end of the ride, a short burst of light rain.
Road construction was the big story of the day. Just as we were getting into high gear we found two long sections of road construction. Rather than navigate the muddy, pot holed, gravel road, we threw our Fridays into the Book’s Bullet and drove to a rest area seven miles from Whitehorse.
I locked onto Curt, who rode like he was Lance Armstrong on drugs, for the ride into our hotel. I thought that Kim and the rest of the gang were right behind us, but when we got to the hotel - no wife! I rode back about five miles looking for a small woman in a baby blue helmet riding a clown bike, but had no luck. Thankfully, when I returned to the hotel she was there and didn’t seem ready to kill me (only permanently maim).
Whitehorse has been cleaned up, given a fresh paint job and now exudes the sort of characteristics that tourists want in their visit to a certified “Wild West, Gold Rush” community. It is really an attractive, happening place, where 25 years ago, it was just another seedy bush village on the Yukon River.
June 20 Conrad Campground 56 miles
We saddled up and hit the trail facing another gray and windy day. Kim, who hates drafting, locked on to my back wheel and stayed there all day, hiding from the endless southwest blasts roaring down the valley.
Mile 33.5 provided the single most exciting moment of the trip. We had just finished having a break and were tearing off down the road. Our friend, Alan Rutherford, was about 100 yards ahead of us, pedaling along in dreamland, when a large sow Grizzly bear and two yearlings ambled out of the woods a scant 15 yards in back of him. Alan never did see the bears, but later exclaimed about experiencing a terrible smell.
Kim and I had stopped and were photographing them when Ron Tangerman rolled up behind us. All of a sudden, two more yearlings bolted out of the brush after their mother, but as quickly as they appeared, four automobiles sped over the rise, pushing them back into the trees. Seconds later they again were out of the brush and this time started walking down the highway towards us. At this point, I put away my phone and threw up my arms and spread my legs, in a lame attempt to make my 165 pounds look big. One Grizzly went into the ditch, the the other got on his hind legs and stood up, trying to get a better look at us.
Just then, as my heart rate was starting to jet, a wonderful Canadian man in a pickup truck pulled up behind us. He had been in the four car pack and had turned around to protect us from the five Grizzly bears. Ron and I threw our three bikes into his pickup and were sitting in the back seat in about 13 seconds. He drove us down the road about 3/4 of a mile, where we continued our pedal through “Grizzly Alley.”
The rest of the day was anticlimactic. We stopped for photos in the cute little tourist mecca, Carcross, where the White Pass Railroad Line brings thousands of cruise line passengers each summer. Thankfully, just as I was tiring, the wind actually shifted in my favor for the last series of hills prior to the campground.
As is fitting, the sun actually came out and the wind died down for a few minutes that evening as we sat around our campsite enjoying Happy Hour and dinner.
It had been another amazing, adventurous day on the “Golden Circle,” easily the most epic experience that I’ve ever had on two wheels.
June 21 Skagway (rode 40 miles)
We awoke to a beautiful blue skied day. However, it wouldn’t have been fitting to end the trip that way. Within a few hours, God had significantly turned down the temperature and had turned up the wind speed to 20-25 mile an hour gusts. Of course, they were headwinds. What else could they be?
Again we were to be hit with road construction. This time we sagged 14 miles, getting out of the cars at a remote trailhead used to access the Chilkoot Trail. Since we had been in Alan and Charlie’s warm and comfortable Mercedes van, it seemed absolutely Arctic when we got on our bikes again.
Riding through the pass into the Coastal Range was stunning. Huge, rugged, partially cloud covered peaks towered over us. Dwarf pines, sitting on a mixture of colorful tundra and large granite slabs, covered the valley floor. Lakes, some miles long and wide, completed the scene. It was utterly spectacular.
Honestly, it was a grind dealing with the headwind and steep pitch of the British Columbia road. It was also rough as Hell, as the Canadians “boulder seal” their roads instead of “chip sealing” them.
I so looked forward to the sign denoting the international boundary, not that I was so homesick for the country that Donald Trump had made great again, but because it meant downhill. Fast, long, sweet downhill. I so wanted to be done with the endless five mile slog.
After a cursory inspection at immigration, we screamed down the comparatively smooth Alaskan highway into Skagway, which is perhaps the ultimate “Wild West, Gold Rush” tourist trap destination. Soapy Smith, legendary con man from the Klondike gold rush days, would be so proud of today’s local residents, as they gleefully fleece the unsuspecting, innocent cruise ship tourist, who disembark into the cute little village by the thousands daily. It is so Klondike, so Alaskan!
We finished off our tour, all 12 members of our Jim Book’s Bike Tour Team, with a banquet of beers, burgers and fish at the Skagway Brewery. It was fitting that once again we had great fun, laughing, toasting each other and generally being silly. It was another wonderful time, which had been the situation for the entire trip.
June 22 Skagway
The tour was over. We were warmly perched in our huge room at the Mile Zero B&B, where we had a shower, warm bed and ample room to get ready for our next adventure - backpacking the Chilkoot Trail.
In reflection, the bike tour was epic. We rode and camped in rain, snow, sleet and howling winds. We faced road construction, bear obstruction and mosquito infestation. At times the scenery was eye popping, while at others the dismal quality of the roads became your central focus.
Overall, the one constant of the trip was our little group of 12 individuals. We were a fun loving, hard working, easy going, cooperative bunch of people who rolled with the punches. Jim and Glenna, when it was raining and 40 degrees, brought all 12 of our bodies into their trailer, the ever spacious Bullet, where we enjoyed a warm breakfast and multiple cups of coffee while packed like sardines. I will forever remember the image of Jim and Curt standing in the closet size bathroom, the only available space.
In retrospect, the whole Alaska-Yukon experience made this bike trip one of my all time favorites. It was the whole package of marginal weather and the comradely attitudes of our little group, along with the wilderness setting, that made it so special. It also helps that Southeast Alaska and the Yukon have some of the most beautiful alpine scenery in the world, which goes a long ways in keeping your attitude positive. It was a wonderful chapter one in our three part book.
Chapter 2
Backpacking the Chilkoot Trail
June 24 Sheep Camp (hiked 13 miles)
After sitting around in Skagway watching the cruise ship tourists wander the streets for two days, Kim and I were off for chapter two of our Great Alaskan Vacation - hiking the Chilkoot Trail.
The shuttle service picked us up at 9:00 A.M. and 20 minutes later we were standing in the parking lot for the trail in Dyea. A cool drizzle was falling, and as we edged up the muddy, obstacle laced trail, we admired the low laying clouds hanging among the mountains. The Tongas National Forest is the world’s ultimate cloud forest and we were seeing it in all of its glory. We walked under huge Black Cottonwood trees and the valley floor was covered by a velvet carpet of colorful lichen. Vibrantly green ferns and huge broad leaf plants, like the ferocious Devil’s Club, lined the sides of the trail.
Friends had told us that this 13 mile day would be easy. Liars! It was a series of endless up and downs, with huge steps, and slick, unpredictable footing. We were both whipped when pulled into Sheep camp 7 1/2 hours after piling out of the van in Dyea. After setting up our tent on one of the standard wooden platforms provided by the park service, we went to work processing water for dinner. We barely had time to cook before we were called to attend the mandatory ranger briefing, led by two young park rangers. Their talk was informative, as they spelled out the trail conditions and offered advice on how to successfully navigate up the trail. The second ranger provided a cursory history lesson on the trail during the gold rush years. It was really interesting.
We no more crawled in our tent than I was asleep. Alaska is hard on a man during the summer months. I found myself settling back into my old pattern, when I would not be able to sleep at all for a couple of nights, mostly due to the sun light coming into my bedroom at 4:30 in the morning, and then absolutely collapse the third night. This was the night of the collapse. And I collapsed hard.
June 25 Happy Camp (hiked 8 miles)
We hit the lottery today - a day worth at least $30 million. The sun came out early in the morning and not a wisp of wind was in the air.
Kim and I woke up at 5:00 A.M. As I headed to the kitchen area to have coffee and eat my breakfast, I noticed that most of the tents were gone. These hikers were serious and had taken the ranger’s advice to get out of camp by 5:00 A.M. I must admit that it made me feel a little slovenly and nervous to be the last one in camp, so after powering through two cups of coffee and eating my granola, we hustled through our pack up and were ready to go by 7:00 A.M.
As we began the steep assent towards Chilkoot Pass, the temperature was probably in the low 50’s, perfect for trudging up a steep hill. Initially, the trail wound through a maze of alder following the diminished Taiya River as we walked towards its headwaters. After about an hour we broke out of the tree line and found ourselves navigating on our first patch of snow, where we could hear the roar of the creek undercutting the snow bridge under us.
We climbed and climbed, with very few flat areas to catch your breath. There was now a steady litter of tin cans, abandoned machines, cables, tools and other assorted metal remnants from the 1898 gold rush. We worked our way up steep snow fields to ultimately arrive at mountainside of large rocks. Using our hands and legs, we scrambled up the boulder field like jack rabbits on steroids.
After navigating the famed Golden Stairs, it was one more punishing vertical snow field, the infamous “scales” of the old Alaska license plate. Again we flew up the trail to the top, where we found Canada, a welcoming Canadian ranger, and a classic rest hut at the summit. A small community of excited hikers were there, some toasting the fine day with wine or champaign. We joined the party with our stale Cliff Bars and water.
I felt that we had the world by the tail; however, the hardest part of the day was ahead of us as we slowly slipped and slid our tired bodies on the mostly snow covered trail to Happy Camp.
The Canadian part of the Chilkoot is magnificent. Rugged rock mountains, partially covered with streaks of of snow, surrounded us on both sides of the valley. Exploding waterfalls cascaded down into the creeks, which we crossed on quickly weakening snow bridges. Ice was melting away on the edges of the lakes, leaving a glowing blue green hue to the overflow laying next to the shoreline. It was so, so beautiful.
Hiking across the soft snow took its toll as the day wore on. Our brisk pace of the morning hours turned into a languid trudge. As the hours rolled by, our desire to see Happy Camp became the central topic of discussion.
When we finally crested a small ridge line and could see the buildings in the distance it was better than Christmas and Thanksgiving together. Happy Camp is perched on a tundra covered hillside overlooking a beautiful river. Again, we had wooden platforms for our tents, bear proof food lockers and warming shed/dining area to cook and eat in. Unlike the American side, the buildings had character and the actual campground was neat as a pin. It was a real upgrade over the facilities we found at Sheep Creek.
The big event of the evening was watching a Grizzly bear playing in the river. Since it was about 3/4 of a mile away, and seemed uninterested in its audience, I enjoyed the performance. It was a fitting finale of a great day.
June 26 Bare Loon Lake (walked 9 miles)
It was another magnificent day on the Chilkoot. We woke up to a gray, foggy morning, but within minutes of hiking down the trail we found full blown sunshine and a gusting wind at our backs. Kim and I roared down the trail, which was easily the best of the hike: smooth surface and minimal snow. The trail scenery was again stunning, with snow capped mountains, large turquoise Lake Linderman, smaller lakes surrounded by scrub spruce and the raging white water of the Deep Lake River Gorge.
We found ourselves at Bare Loon Lake in the early afternoon, beating all of our fellow hikers into camp and having first choice of the tent platforms. As we pulled into camp, we found ourselves experiencing a strange phenomena for Alaska and the Yukon, as we were actually hot, hiking in our tee shirts and shorts.
After we set up our tent, I laid out on a large rock slab and visited with a couple of our fellow hikers, who came from a group of middle aged females from Whitehorse. I can’t ever remember enjoying the company of a group of strangers more than our Chilkoot group. Typically, when thrown together in a group like this, people are more aloof and private in their interactions with each other. Not so with our group of friendly Canadians and Americans. They were all about having fun, laughing and enjoying each other’s company. It really made this hike special.
June 27 Bennett (walked 6 miles)
We were the very last ones to leave camp, slowly moving as we knew we had an easy hike ahead of us and a long wait for the train at 3:30 P.M. Nevertheless, we did finally get moving and the trail was as quick and easy as forecasted.
The scenery of our last leg was more mundane, as we walked in a narrow corridor of forest. We broke out a few times to look at the rugged mountains towering over large turquoise lakes, but mostly it was downhill and in the trees. We talked of the trip, stating it was one of our best ever, our plans after getting back into the city of Skagway, and of our next adventure, Glacier Bay.
The weather had changed again; unfortunately, back to the gray and chilly climate that had been the story of most of our trip. For the first time, I was starting to think of home, where the Wyoming July days would be warm and filled with sunshine.
The wait at the Lake Bennett shelter was anticlimactic. We wandered the shoreline, seeing old beer bottle shards, tin cans and other remnants of the gold rush days. We also poked around a small cemetery that was established for the gold miners who perished in their attempt to reach the Klondike. In truth, we were done with it all, we even skipped the National Park Service movie at the train station, and were looking forward to moving on to our next chapter.
The much acclaimed White Pass Railroad trip back to Skagway was mediocre at best. After the scenery that we had experienced on the trail, the train ride was a let down. However, since it was a ride back to town, and the other option entailed walking the railroad tracks and hitch hiking, we were pleased to have our seats.
Once we pulled into Skagway, Kim and I scurried about like two mice on amphetamines to organize the rest of our trip. We hiked from the train station to the Mile Zero B&B, pulled our bikes and suitcases from their storage room, and for $5 took the local bus to the airport.
There, we met our fellow Chilkoot hikers, Juneau Dave and Chief Seattle Rich, who exclaimed about the wonders of a local restaurant’s hamburger to their famished bodies. We were quickly heading back down the street to throw down an Alaska Amber and inhale a burger before our flight left.
The Alaska Seaplanes flight to Juneau was the highlight of the day. It had been a long time since I had been in a bush plane, and crawling back into the front seat of that Cessna Caravan brought back many memories. The flight was simply amazing, as we looked off to our left at the vertical snow covered peaks of the Chilkat Range, part of Glacier Bay National Park, ascending from the Lynn Canal. It was the best “flight seeing tour” of my life, and it was simply a one way fare from Skagway to Juneau. It seemed like our Alaska trip was just getting better and better with each day.
June 28 Glacier Bay National Park (kayaked 8 miles)
After a miserable, scorching night of 90 degree heat in our room at the Driftwood Lodge in Juneau, where the hot water valve of their heating system was stuck on, we took an early morning flight out of the capital city to Gustavus, the village where the airport is located for Glacier Bay National Park.
We quickly reported to the Park Service Visitor Center, where we were given a presentation on camping in the park. Much emphasis was put on the triangle: where you put your bear canister, where you eat and thirdly, where you put up your tent. Our ranger, a young Tlingit man, did a masterful job in injecting humor into his talk. We asked for a more vivid illustration of how to go to the bathroom in the intertidal zone, but he told us that that was simply too much education.
The next meeting was with the kayak company. They set us up with all of our equipment, which included rain gear, mud boots, kayaks, spray skirts and of course, the paddles for our two seater. The young man doing the presentation ripped through things pretty quickly, and I was still fumbling with getting my mud boots on when he slapped us on the back and told us to have a good time.
We were supposed to leave on the 5:00 P.M. tide, but we couldn’t wait that long. We loaded everything up, which took some doing considering that we like the concept of luxury camping, and were on the water an hour early.
Within the first 30 seconds of sea kayaking I was wet. In getting in my boat, I stepped out in too deep of water, filling my mud boots to the brim. I went to shore and poured it out, but was to spend the next two days with wet, semi-cold feet.
The early moments of the trip were interesting. First of all, you have to remember that I had not slept the night before in the dry sauna, torture chamber of the much hated Driftwood Lodge. I was certified brain dead. I was sitting in the back of the kayak, where I was responsible for steering the craft with my feet, while keeping time with Kim in paddling. It’s like asking me to walk and chew gum at the same time. Impossible.
Our boat, which looked like an oblong plastic tomato, swerved a large zig zagging course across the harbor. I would jam my left foot down, we would rocket left, then over correct with my right foot, making us lurch to the right wildly. At the same time, Kim sat in the front criticizing my lack of synchronicity in paddling. I was either too slow or too fast.
I was flat amazed when we made it out of the harbor, navigated the narrow cut and turned left into a protected channel running south to north among the Beardslee Islands. I soon started to relax a bit and actually was beginning to derive a very small portion of joy from the experience. Puffins buzzed our heads at warp speed, we had a covey of porpoises porpoise right in front of our boat and occasionally seals would stick their heads out of the water as we paddled by.
It really was a beautiful night, as the sun was out and our hated enemy from the bike trip, the wind was no where to be found. This, we found, was not a good thing. The scourge of the Togiak, the monsters that Alaskans fear more than Grizzly bears, had flown over a 1000 miles from Bristol Bay to terrorize us on our kayak trip. You’re right - the deadly gnat, called “no see ‘ems” in Alaska - attacked us with a vengeance. I don’t know how they do it, but they’re capable of crawling under the rim of your hat to bite huge chunks of flesh out of your head. I was yanking my hat off, slapping my head with my hand, swearing something terrible. It was absolute HELL. We would paddle with everything we had to escape them, finding a short window of freedom until their internal radar had located us again.
As we paddled on we started to hear a distinct barking. We continued, noting that a peninsula jutting out into the channel might be a good camping spot. Soon we found ourselves surrounded by a large group of harbor seals, who popped up all around us, at times splashing the water violently as they dove below the water line. We knew that they didn’t want us around, so we chugged away to find another camping site.
It is really somewhat difficult to find that perfect camping spot in the Beardslee Islands. The rather flat islands are covered with a dense forest of hemlock and Sitka Spruce. There is a narrow band of grass at the edge of the island, and below that you have the rock strewn beach of the tidal zone.
On our second attempt to find our Hilton like home for the night, the first one was ruled out as we found large areas in the grass where bears had lain the night before, we scored. Sure, our tent was put up on top of a slanted foundation of sea grass, and we had a bear path 15 yards in back of it, but it was perfect, because it would give us protection from the killer gnats of Alaska.
Kim and I pulled our heavy plastic boat up and then walked about 100 yards down the beach to stash our bear canister, where we had a quick swig of whiskey before a wild sprint back to our tent. Thankfully, Kim had taken her mosquito head net with for the trip, as I had left mine behind because we didn’t have enough room (this really does show how stupid I can be). After she had crawled into the safety of our tent, I put it on to protect me from the man eating gnats. I sat in my small chair, watching the light show created by the clouds and descending sun. It was a perfect end to a great day. I was safe from the gnats, and it was a warm, peaceful night of watching and listening to the sounds of the sea mammals all around us.
June 29 Glacier Bay National Park (kayaked 12 miles)
Kim woke up with a screaming migraine headache, which was probably a good thing. After all, we had no where to go and nothing to do. We had to wait for the evening tide to get back to the kayak center at the park lodge. I sat in my little chair on the beach, reading my book, drinking coffee and watching the world go by at a very slow speed. The weather had changed again - cold, overcast, windy. At least the gnats weren’t too ferocious.
At one point I heard Kim scream, thinking that I was making too much racket around the tent. It was just a bear. Apparently the bear had the good sense to head back into the trees, as taking on Kim with a headache would have been disastrous.
We finally loaded up and headed out to see the world about noon. We continued paddling north towards the twin peaks of the beautiful Bear Trap Range. Yes, we did see more puffins, sea otters, seals and porpoises, and even a small black bear, but it wasn’t nearly as much fun on day two of our paddle. However, I had actually gotten the gist of steering down reasonably well and we were cruising along at 4.5 miles an hour, according to Garmin, in a relatively straight line.
Since we had hours to kill, we spent a lot of time sitting, simply watching the water and shorelines for activity. We chatted about nothing and waited. It wasn’t the most fun we’d ever experienced.
We eventually started working our way south to the cut. However, the tide was out and channel we had to navigate was nothing but a rock wall at this point. When we finally made the cut, we found the tide raging inward, but still not enough water to float over the rock obstacles. We beached the boat and decided to make a hot lemonade. As if on cue, a total of 346,592,913 gnats descended on us in an all out attack. This time they had machine guns and machetes, and we were trapped. Paddling against the incoming tide would have been nearly impossible, I already had blisters on my hands, and the rock wall of the cut barred our escape to the lodge. We stood there, smacking our bodies in an effort to kill as many of them as possible, but it was like attempting to mow your lawn with a nail clipper. They absolutely feasted on us. Soon we were shouting insults at each other, the gnats driving us to hate each other and the world we lived in. It was madness.
We raced through the narrow channel of the cut an hour before we were scheduled to return, showing great skill in navigating the obstacles. With the attacking gnats to our back, we paddled briskly for our freedom.
After we returned our kayaks and checked into the hotel, I ordered a 22 ounce Alaskan Icey Bay IPA, my all time favorite beer. I needed and savored every drop of it after experiencing the War of the Gnats. With time and the fine Alaskan craft beers, my PTSD would evaporate and life would go on. Maybe.
June 30 Glacier Bay National Park
We awoke to light rain and a very low ceiling. I would estimate that we had about a quarter mile visibility. Nevertheless, we loaded on the expensive cruise ship for the 65 mile trip to the far reaches of Glacier Bay, the calving Margerie glacier.
The sight seeing cruise was really a bust. Sure we saw both killer and humpback whales, sea lions and seals, but it was a loser because of the weather. You couldn’t see the steep mountains of the fiord, the brilliant glaciers running into the ocean, and the land mammals, such as bears and mountain goats, were laying down, waiting out the bad weather.
The best part of the experience was eating the sea food chowder and visiting with one of the kayakers we had picked up off the beach. She told us of how brown bears had come into their camp, inspecting their tents and then ambling off to find more interesting subjects.
We toughed it out a bit and went outside in an attempt to see something, but it was impossible. The rain, the wind, the misery pushed us back inside the cabin, where we sat at a table waiting for the cruise to end.
At the end of the cruise we were loaded into an old school bus and taken to the Alaska Airlines terminal in Gustavus. There we stood around, as there were seats for about 20 people, with over 150 human beings jammed into the building who were waiting for their exit from Glacier Bay. It was not a good situation, as going outside into the rain and wind wasn’t optimal. We waited and waited. We waited. Finally, I heard the tell tale sound of a roaring jet engine. I thought it had landed and was taxiing up the run way. But no! It had attempted to land, but the visibility was so bad it couldn’t legally do the trick, and it was on its way back to Juneau.
Being experienced in such things, life in Alaska for 18 years does teach you a few tricks, I sprinted over to the Alaska Seaplanes terminal to buy seats on their airplane leaving that night. However, just as I was pulling out my credit card, some other smart Alaskan had snagged the last four seats.
We were stuck in the park for another day. Damn. And I mean damn. We went back to the lodge, had another 22 ounce IPA and shrugged off the situation. It was Alaska. Nothing could be done about it, so you just had to roll with the flow.
July 1 Juneau
Thanks be to God and Alaska Sea Planes, we finally escaped Glacier Bay. It was nip and tuck, as the weather had stayed consistently crappy, but the small, regional airline finally was able to sneak four caravans into Gustavus. For an extra $200 we could escape another very expensive day of doing nothing at the national park lodge, and start our way homeward. It was money well spent.
The excitement of hitting the big city, Juneau is over 30,000 people, was almost too much to handle. We promptly walked down to the Alaska Brewery Store, where we were immediately asked if we wanted to participate in the actual brewery tour. I didn’t have to be asked twice, so within seconds we were in a van headed to Lemon Creek, where the large warehouse buildings that house the brewery are located. The tour wasn’t really much, just a 20 minute lecture on the history of the beer, but we had so much fun. We were given three samples of their standard products and then allowed to select four other samples of products that they do not brew in great quantities. My favorites were the Hoptomania Double IPA and Spruce Tips IPA. I must admit that I was in Heaven. It was so wonderful. As could be predicted, after the afternoon of sampling, we were dropped off at their retail outlet downtown, which was like offering a small child the keys to Disneyland. The credit card immediately came out of hiding to buy Alaska hats, Alaska pint glasses, Alaska bottle openers, and other exciting things that we didn’t really need or want. However, at the time, it seemed like a very good idea.
Our three part, Grand Alaska Tour was finally over. I would say that it was one of our best trips ever. The weather had been marginal, but it didn’t matter. Alaska and the section of Canada that we visited are in a category of their own. The country is so wild, so exciting, that makes for an experience that one can’t really understand or compare to in the Lower 48. I love my Wyoming and find Montana and Utah incredible places. However, they pale in comparison to the Alaska experience. It really is the Last Frontier.
