Wrangle - St Ellias National Park

June 18th

Yesterday was the last leg on the Al-Can for awhile, with THAT experience of Mark doing a stellar job of maneuvering "M" in-between, around and sometimes over and over potholes, roller-coaster type formations, lava-flow like ridges. It was a trip! We stopped at Buckshot Betty's in Beaver Creek, where RV washes were prolific, after collecting layers of dirt on vehicles everywhere. Had a sit-down restaurant lunch which was with a wonderful salad bar, fries, great sandwiches, before we continued onto the largest national park in America, the Wrangell-St. Elias wilderness.

 



Sanford Peak is over 16,000 feet high, with several others almost matching her. Beautiful company, these giants, as we drove through a narrower highway now. Stopping in two national park centers were impressive with such helpful, cheerful volunteers and rangers, especially keeping us abreast of fires in Wassila (I always smirk about Sarah Palin), Willow, and north of, with the Homer-Anchorage road closed, until yesterday.
 

Chitina was our destination yesterday, and it coincided with the seasonal dip-net fishing for  all Alaskan residents. Mark was hoping to get his previous campsite, but was initially frustrated that we may not even get a site, with all these fisher-people surrounding us. When we went to check out the potential, there was a spot for us, but not his solo cocoon. We shared this bluff site, overlooking the muddy-watered, but incredible sand-bar fingered Copper River, with about 4 other campers, one with his obscenely large and long RV and a boat (he turned out to have a condo at The Seasons in Sandpoint, for skiing, and rents it out the rest of the year).

 



After smoked salmon bought in Haines, crackers, applesauce, we were the only walkers down to the river; everyone else was on ATVs, trucks, RVs. It was a 15 minute flat and then down-hill, gravel road stroll, into the fiercest wind and dust storm I've ever been blasted with. Mark and I assessed it at about 50 MPH! I could lean backwards into it, maybe 20 degrees, without dropping. It was another world, looking down, surprisingly, at all the campers by the river, AND seeing this lime green expresso hut perched on it's own platform. So funny...
 

Getting to the confluence by the creek and Copper, there was only a father and two sons fishing with their nets. Their faces were covered with dirt, and what fun, though. The parent had 10 kids in a huge tent on the beach, that was just blowing, being inflated perpetually. He can catch 25 salmon, and 10 per family member, or a 135 limit. Usually, he fishes the Kenai, but the road was closed last year, so he thought he'd try the Copper. If it continues to blow like this, he'll just go home to Anchorage, he lamented.

Walking back up, I pulled Mark inward, fearing the wind could blow us over the cliffs, that powerful. We shook out our dusty, dusty clothes, and relished the experience of being in a "happening" of sorts amongst these dip-net fishermen, with coolers and ATV's everywhere, going up and down from the river, into late light night, and then re-starting the traffic at 6:30 a.m. today.

Today, we headed towards McCarthy, after dropping off the trailer at the ranger parking lot. The intention was to ride our bikes 5 miles to the Root Glacier trailhead, that was to be a 4 mile round trip hike. The road was so wash-boarded, that "M" was suffering, Mark feared, and we were only 20 miles into the 60 mile trek. Two years ago, he rode his motorcycle there, and the road was in so much smoother condition. We turned around. He suggested we then head to Valdez, and asked me what I'd prefer. Because of the stressful driving to McCarthy, I didn't think a day of more would be a happy thing to do for Mark, and I wanted to stay and watch the netters catch salmon. He was in full agreement, and we found another camp, this time right by the Copper River, where fishermen were strewn, in RVs and a few tents.

We rode our bikes over the bridge and down a steep gravel road, to the other side of river where more fishermen (including women, of course) were. Further out on these fingerlings of river and gravel bars, were three native groups. We watched two women walking their rectangular shaped nets (vs. most others' circular ones) upriver, and then slowly moving down. One gal caught three silvery salmon within 5-10 minutes of the other. Three elderly looking members of hers were sitting outside their truck, bundled in blankets enjoying the wind, the river and the balmy cool air. An Alaskan Trooper drove past us, parked by one of the river fingers, waded across, and walked quite a ways to get to a SUV that was half submerged, misjudging his portage. No one was in it, so he must have been assessing the sight. There are signs posted making it illegal for rigs to cross the waters; although that's how the majority seemed have gotten to the river's shoreline.

 







The wind is now 22 MPH, with haze from the dirt blowing off the river and through this open flat of graveled and stoney land. So cool, being in our cozy, metal-sided abode, and having hot showers to shed the film.