Denali NP - Teklanika Camp

June 27th

Catching up on yesterday and today...We got up early yesterday, to ease our minds about
getting down, off the Knob, Mark worried that it may be slick from yesterday, last night, and this
morning's ongoing storm and rain. Breakfast and shower waited until we were reassured. "M"
and Mark made it down smoothly and easily, with him gripping and then loosening on the
emergency brake. The ester hill we were on top of, consists of glacial run-off gravel, rocks and
sand, so the ground was still solid, gritty with secure grip.

"M" and the trailer were rejoined, we ate, and drove off for Denali Park. More boreal forests
lined our way, with noticeable terrain changes, but still dotted with the lakes, rivers and creeks
so appreciated. Getting to the park, we checked in for our camp reservation, road and shuttle
permits, went to the visitors center to ask about taking the trailer in, since the young university
woman staff checked with someone, who "thought" it'd be okay, at the reservation center. Mark,
however, wasn't sold, since four years ago, a ranger at Teklanika campground was adamant
that he could not have it there, and the on-line reservation literature clearly stated no
unnecessary pull-ins were permitted, unless camp survival was dependent on the extra tote.

At the visitors center, we spoke to an older, white-haired and bearded staff, who was very
lackadaisical, slow-movin' and talkin', and he thought, for sure (but did not really know the fact),
we'd be able to take the trailer (with our kayaks, bikes, extra gear). Eh,not sold, so Mark pulled
up his previous reservation confirmation, reviewed the no extra wheels part, and decided we
should not push it, in case we are sent back to the entrance, after the thirty mile drive to
Teklanika.

With that issue closed, we strolled the funky, charming boardwalk through the shops,
restaurants, cafes, ice cream palace (where we enjoyed moose tracks, and smiling mutually at
everyone coming out, and lunched on fish and chips and halibut tacos at another small
establishment). Mark got himself a t-shirt with "Alaska Fast-Food" printed, with a bear chasing a
wolfe, all chasing a guy. Funny. He and I share a quality and/or fault of a sweet tooth, and have
indulged in purchasing a total of two pounds of fudge in the last month on the road, with the
majority sinned yesterday of the 1.5 pounds. We marketed in one of the three tiny grocery
stores, at the end of the rustic strip mall, "Sled Dog," that was recommended by a couple store
staff, to stock up for the 10 day camp in Tek. One gal working in a super outdoor clothing shop,
had been an outfitter for ROW in Coeur d'Alene, several years ago, and has worked for another
in Denali. Another young guy in the market, was from Boise, and admitted north Idaho was
betta. Lots of German and East Indian accents and language along this entire trip, too.

Ready to settle, Mark found another boon-dock site, before our campsite reservation started
today, just outside of town, along the Nenana River and with a clear view of the mountains. The
storm had cleared the brown smoke haze, so it is such a gift to behold these stellar brown (and
some snowed) peaks with the most beautiful emerald green cascading down the slopes. We
sat outside, in the back of the trailer, out of the wind for a spell, before dining on clam chowder
and blueberry bagels, with almond butter and jam, which tasted so good.

Afterwards, we watched the first Harry Potter film, which Mark has had, but this was his
initiation. He has read the entire series, and has been very impressed with the actor reading the
books-on-tape. It was fun watching his delight, and sharing this level of fantasy. Afterwards, we
took our evening stroll in between the three other RVs along this river, and called it a night.

This morning, being Saturday, I wanted a real breakfast, which means eggs for me, after my
protein drink throughout the week-days; although I was willing to forego this, if we needed to get
going for our Teklanika reservation, in order to get a good site. Mark felt we could linger
somewhat, so we went to this fantastic, beautifully decorated and cuisined place "The Perch,"
which took us through cheerfully painted cabins, encouraging one to follow the multiple
groupings of wooden moose, up to the restaurant. It was well worth the hunt, and was a 20
year-old business of Leslie's, with her mother from Salem,OR, assisting her in the summers.
Leslie's seasonal job is working for some of the Alaskan based military "camps."

The interior was done so creatively, with a two-tiered type beam-work, table-tops perched upon
lacquered, graceful stumps, window alcoves with Leslie's friends' lent bronze sculptures of
wildlife (that were of gallery quality), and naturalist photos framed on walls. Great food. Mark
had creme brulee French toast, which he felt was great, but more like a dessert. He was
expecting French toast with a side pitcher of creme brulee sauce to ration and pour. I had a
yummy omelet with mushrooms, reindeer sausage and swiss cheese, with Srincha (?) sauce.

Leslie took pride in sharing a couple other recipes, in addition to the creme brulee French toast
(Karo syrup, brown sugar and butter on the bottom of a baking dish, wheat bread over this,
cover with mixture of eggs, cream, vanilla, with a heavy plate pushing all down overnight, bake
at 275 degrees, and serve upside down with berries). Her version of eggs benedict consists of
replacing English muffins, putting hash browns in muffin tins, and then sautés mushrooms,
spinach and onions, and tops off the potatoes with this. Then, the eggs and hollandaise sauce
are served on these. I just wanted to stay for more nurturance for da mout, and have lunch and
dinner with her, to-boot. Driving to the highway, Mark and I were in wonderment over just how
much work that must take for Leslie, with 26 cabins and a first-class restaurant on the steepest
hillside, and in the boonies of Denali.

I got to sing happy birthdays to Deb and Vicky, before no wifi nor cell reception for ten days, and
make sure Delia gets love flowers to honor her mama's passing. When we leave Denali on July
7th, we'll head to Lyra and Rob's in Anchorage (my god-daughter and her family), and caravan
on to Homer, to celebrate b'days with Vicky, Lael and his partner Marah, hopefully, whom I have
not met.

At the visitors center parking lot, in overnight camping, the trailer was left. Kayaks secured with
nifty locking, steele-cabled straps, and the transfer of items into "M" began, lasting about an
hour. A generator, two gasoline and water containers, propane tank with hose, outdoor
Kokopelli mat, camp chairs, solar panel and chords were dragged, bungy-chorded in "M." Mark
set-up rack in back of her for the mountain bikes. It was great teamwork, and I am consistently
impressed, in-awe of Mark's technical and organizational know-how, his thoroughness in
ensuring safety and survival in his traveling home.

Traveling past the 10K race runners, Mark recognized a woman he met two years ago in the
campground here, with her family. This park's unfolding drive takes one through and around
these marvelous, magical valleys of refreshing green tundra, contained by those brown and
green forested mountains, with glacier-glazed peaks in the background. Mark kids me when I
compare the views to paintings, since these are the real deals that artists emulate. The analogy
is to a kind of impressionist-like mistiness, softness of the lines of color that closer hills do not
possess with their sharp, defined lines. The former distanced mountains and valleys create
sensations of openness, peace in my chest and breath.

When we got to the ranger's entrance hut, we had to show him our camp and road permit.
Sitting inside, was that older guy ranger, who told us we could probably take the trailer in with no
problem. Funny. We fantasized how we could have blamed him, if we had followed his hunch,
and been turned away.

As usual, we eventually got Mark's special spot in Teklanika. For the first hour, we thought we
had rationalized scoring a spot next to the only one with a view of the Teklanika River, that was
occupied by a tent, and then a truck drove up (no vehicles can go out of camp, unless leaving,
and all take shuttles, except for professional photographers who have to prove they are well published)
with a "pro-pho". When we were visiting with the camp host, Beth, who Mark ran into
this last year in Borrego, CA, where she and husband Ron, snowbird, she shared the
photographers were busted today by one of the shuttle drivers. They went within 10 feet of a
grizzly, which is against the park rules. Beth said the drivers take this seriously, being protective
of their park's wildlife. Anyways, the photographers left soon after we got there, and we decided
to move everything over to their and Mark's campsite. It is much more open, airy, with that view
of the river. So, we teamworked again, lugging stuff into "M", or just walking things next door.

Nice afternoon walking to where the shuttle will pick us up tomorrow at 8:30 a.m., to Wonder
Lake, around the campground, and out to the river (which reminds me much of the Copper
River, minus the winds). Salmon burgers for dinner outside on the picnic table. At 7:30 nightly,
there are ranger presentations in the outdoor amphitheatre, and we attended one tonight on
birds and bears of the park. It was full, and the female ranger was great with the kids there, too,
getting them involved in raven smarts demonstrations, rewarding them with skittles. We both
want to hear the one on wolves later this week.

The sunny and warm evening was passed with sitting outside at our river view, reading, and
now, oh my gosh, it's 10:30, dusk-lit, and time for bed.

Gracious House Lodge

June 25th

Good-bye and thank you, Clearwater Creek. As we headed westerly on the Denali Hwy., the
smoke haze was lifting, which was evidenced by the clearer sight of the brown-topped Alaskan
Range mountains, which have been so camouflaged until today. The further west we head,
there are sparse boreal forest trees of black and white spruce gathering more thickly amidst the
low green tundra. Kettle lakes and creeks still follow us through this last leg of the highway
before Denali Park by Saturday.

Into about an hour, I wanted to stop at the Gracious House Lodge, for their touted homemade
pies, and then a sign for cinnamon rolls. Another sign directed us to honk for service, which we
didn't have to do, since one of the owners was on her out to the cafe-bar. Turned out to be a
very pleasant visit with Carol, the owner with her husband Butch (his family opened this
multirecreational and services lodge in 1957, and he and Carol are now 72, putting it up for sale).
She said business is down 95%, and usually, in June, they would be serving large groups huge
meals, e.g. Wells Fargo employees, outfitters, and now there are none currently nor on the
books. Just lights for the 11.5 acred lodge, is $150/day, so the bar-restaurant stayed dimly lit
while we devoured our scrumptious warm cinnamon rolls with freshly lathered-on cream cheese
icing.

Butch had bypass surgery five months ago, so retirement beckons to them. They have a home
in Yuma, as well, so a more relaxed time in life is desired and needed. Their grandson was
spotted riding on an ATV as we approached, and then disappeared. Carol is proud of this
young man, a student at Johns Hopkins, in astrophysics and business, who has been spending
much of his summers with them, loving this wild Alaskan home of his grandparents, and having
been raised a city boy back east. Mark left a generous tip, which Carol placed in a tiny jar for
her grandson---a token something for helping out. She gave us a real estate flyer to pass-on to
anyone who might be interested in stopping by and/or a purchase of a gamble life-style.

Driving for about two hours, Mark found his other campsite I was confident he would recognize.
It is known as The Knob, an ester hill on the north side of the road, that is 4-wheel drive
recommended. As two years ago, the trailer was parked in the small turn-out across the ester,
in order to scale this rocky but do-able climb in "M."

There was a simpler, previous beautiful viewpoint turn-out, I would have been more than
satisfied with, but once on top of this knoll, getting out, the panoramic view of the Alaskan
Range was a breath-taker. Because of a fire in Healy, right above the park (Carol from Gracious
House informed us), the glaciers and peaks were misted in light brown smoke, but it is still is a
stunner. At 2, more thunder and lightning, as has been the pattern on this highway, but then a
thick white screen made the ranges invisible, and cycles of more thunder, lightning and 16 MPH
winds have continued still, at 9:45 p.m. A couple hours ago, sitting after dinner, there was a too
close shock of light, and at one thousand count, the loudest clap of thunder right above us,
made me automatically lift my stockinged feet up and pull both arms in, into a fetal position. I
felt better knowing Mark was also afraid. It took us both some time to stop vibrating.

I asked him what could be the worse thing that could happen in a storm like this, and he shared
that we would just blow up, probably from the gas tank, and we wouldn't even know it,
laughingly. Thank God, the next round moved far enough away from us wee beings, to feel
slower heartbeats again. We got out a bit ago, needing to walk, using checking on the trailer
down the hill, as an excuse. We've been use to our evening walks, and felt refreshed by the
light rain and reassured that the roads were not bogs. It has been a cozy, boat-like experience
watching, experiencing this amazing storm over this as-far-as-the-eye-can-see wild mecca.

Bicycling the Denali Highway

June 24th

Several light, funny dreams last night with Terry running some sort of map contest, and Karen B.
being the enforcer and tip-giver to me. I ended up with the easiest research topic on some
South American resort----go figure. The last couple nights, I find myself waking at 11:30 and
early morn, seeing the light outside, and returning to sleep. It's been chillier the last two nights
in this camp by Clearwater Creek. As long as I have my socks on, I am fine, and Mark covered
me with the fleece blanket early morn, too. What a sweetie.

It was a luxury sleeping until 8:30 this morn, and dreaming right up til then. It's fine with me if
early-riser Avakian opens the shades and shuffles around; just asked him not to play rock and
roll that early. He's been waking at about 4 or 5, dozing off and on, but usually has his eyes
open when I roll over to peek. The usual rising time seems to be 7 a.m., unless one of us needs
more sleep, so there is no set expectation. But, that is why naps and/or meditation afternoon
times are wonderful and enable me or us to catch our breaths, if our activities get us back to "M"
in time.

We took our time this a.m., reading, Mark working on pics, chatting, to the point of both yawning
at 11, laughing. That's when we knew we needed a wake-up bike ride, that always does the
trick. What warm, gorgeous weather today, in the 70s, and it is such a joy riding on this Denali
Hwy., because it is infrequent encountering cars, RVs; although there were over a handful, but
nothing like riding on a busy thoroughfare. Whenever a rig would be approaching, with a dust
trail visible, we'd stop to prevent being sprayed by gravel and overwhelmed by too much dirt. A
couple times, we motioned for the drivers to slow down, as they maintained their same speed
passing us lowly bikers. The two tour bus-drivers were very considerate in slowing down when
we were sighted.

Returning to terrain covered yesterday was even more enjoyable, being closer on our bikes. A
lovely multitude of these kettle lakes formed by melted glacial ice, and the Crooked Creek, with
it's graceful winding of waters through green tundra was magical. Tundra or trumpeter swans
dotted the landscape, as well. Have to look up grebes, which may be the black ducks/geese
spotted on one lake, larger than loons and in large flocked groups.

We rode for over two hours, and I finally have the gears in uphill together, with pacing the
pedaling, and was very proud ascending to the flatter tops, not being as wiped-out as in Jasper.
It was very freeing speeding downhill, and I let myself loosen up more than in the past, since I
am cautious about speed, in general. The knees felt pretty good afterwards, with Ibuprofen
taken beforehand. Mark is prepping me for more biking in the park, in addition to hikes, which,
of course, I am up for.

This has been my favorite campsite experience, thus far, because of the two relaxing, no driving
days, and today was languishing in our chairs by the creek, after bicycling, and eating cold tuna
casserole outside, reading, and then dozing later on. Mid-afternoon, I thought Mark was
shaking my chair or the wind blew up, but we realized it was a very mild earthquake, which was
disconcerting. We wondered if it was a strong one somewhere, and hoped no damage was
done. Mark, later on, emailed Christine, to ask her to research this for us, and she replied that it
was north of Willow, at 5.8 magnitude. She wrote she wasn't concerned about earthquakes, but
fires instead. In a couple days, in the park, we will inquire about the current status of latter.

A man and his two school-aged, sparkling eyed daughters walked up this afternoon, and asked
for a stronger jack, due to his truck's flat tire. Mark got one out for him, and they delivered it in a
couple hours, and ended up camping at the eastern campsite. They are from Seward, but did
not know Lael, my god-son, who teaches at the community college and is also a fine furniture
maker.

Our evening ritual is to walk a while, and tonight we fly-fished in the creek, over the bridge
again. I caught another grayling, and learned how to release the baby with Mark's hemostat (?)
clamp, hold it for a bit to let it regain some calm, and then was happy when it swam off. Every
day, since we've been on this road, there is thunder and lightning, mostly in late afternoon. We
decided to fish, even as the storm sounded right as we were getting ready. Luckily, it moved on
quite a distance away, as both of us watched it with each drum-sounding. Glancing towards the
bridge, a long, orange-red fox was moving gracefully over it, and I pointed it out to Mark. He
must have continued down the road, and I was hoping he'd be curious and come down to the
creek for a looksy at us. Yes, I could, most certainly, get use to this kind of evening ritual,
casting on mesmerizing rivers, creeks, being outside, calm.

Clearwater Creek

June 23rd

Continuing on the Denali Hwy., taking it leisurely, since we don't have to be to Teklanika in the
park until Saturday. This road is another 70-80 miles or so, and we are a third of the way. It is
now gravel, after the first 21 of paved path, so the going is slow, to 30 MPH, normally. However,
it is a much smoother ride than the McCarthy attempt in the Wrangell-St. Elias park, which was
deeply washboarded, and Mark feels comfortable that this way is kinder to "M."

M from Geocache

Geocaching has been really fun, and introduced us to such special spots we would never have
discovered here, Hawaii and locally in Idaho. Today, we stopped at three trailheads, based on
the GPS coordinates. The first was just too much bush-whacking after a quarter mile, so we
gave up that search. Behind one of the off-road, informal campsites now all along the highway,
was the sweetest, open trail, through the low tundra, leading to an esker (remnants of rocks and
stones from glacial movement) of black rocks in a diamond shaped pile. Directions said the
cache would be on the edge of this pile. Mark, being the whiz-geocacher that he is, usually can
spot the cache (in various containers of film canisters, ammo cans, plastic tupperware with
screw tops), and oftentimes, lets me try to locate it, to develop my acumen in this sport. I
usually ask for clues after awhile, and he tells me to notice anything out of the ordinary from the
rocks; another tip was noticing the color of all the rocks, and look at a different edge. Well, right
away, when I lifted my chin I spotted the beige rock, and could see the blue lid on the plastic
container.

One is privy to an array of little trinkets within, some called travel bugs one can track on
computer, and toys like a little mermaid, pins, sealed tube of coffee. There is usually a short
pencil and a piece of paper to log in your geocache name, Mark's being "Knotaklu." He will then
log the geocache find on a specific site, on-line, so the creator can be informed. Evidently, one
has to be somewhat local to create a geocache, in order to maintain it, so we would not be able
to do one here.

Our third treasure hunt was about 2 miles, and the most challenging and invigorating, walking
through muddy bogs, tundra, and small creek, and god-awful deep and destructive ATV tracks,
tearing up the bogs even more. Luckily, we brought our walking sticks to assist in fording creek
rocks and mud banks. We were grateful that the bugs were not an issue, surprisingly, with all
the moisture. Getting to about 40 feet away, the clue on the GPS given was "Sometimes money
grows on trees, and so do caches." There was one spindly black spruce right off the trail,
obvious, and the ammo can was visible right away.

Close to the trailhead, a mama ptarmigan, plump, brown and white, came from the tundra brush
on our left, looking as though she were hurt, flapping and scooting herself back towards the
shrubs. Mark sensed she was pretending in order to distract us from her chicks, which was
true, watching her hurry back, and spotting a chick climbing towards her squawking demands.
There was another all brown bird with a red head, also on the ground, talking as it skirted
behind further away brush; I thought this may be a male ptarmigan, the papa, trying to divert our
attention to him? We felt fulfilled after this cache adventure, and tired.

Up the road, we stopped by the McLaren River to lunch in "M," after listening to one of the
Denali Lodge staff lecture to a tour bus lunch crowd there, about their services and the area.
There are sled dog rides as another highlight they provide, and kennels next door, that have
breeded Iditarod champions.

Mark had a specific off-road campsite in mind, he stayed at the last two trips, and wasn't sure of
its exact spot, until we drove to Clearwater Creek, and there was another motorhome driving
into his place! He groaned, moaned. Not to give up, we drove in alongside it, and asked the
couple down by the creek, if they were going to stay there, and luckily, they were not, and
headed for Tangle Lakes (where we left in the east today). Yay! It is another perfect site right
by this healthy, fast-moving creek, with lovely shrubs and wildflowers of bluebells, dandelions,
and fireweed.

We rested, listening to another round of thunder and witnessed lightning before slumbering for a
bit. When refreshed and the storm passed, the creek called to us, Mark got the fly-fishing poles
ready (and I got a refresher course watching and doing), and we walked across the wooden
bridge, to the other side, and casted for about 1.5 hours. Within a very few minutes, Mark
caught an arctic grayling in a quieter pool where another creek blended into the Clearwater. So
exciting for us both, since he had not caught anything on this Denali Hwy. the last trips. He
chose to release it, as fitting, and, always the gentleman, offered me a go at the pool. Same
thing---within a few, I snagged a grayling, let it go, and we rotated two more times, with 4
graylings total. What a gas, really! So fun!!! My line got caught on rocks and trees a couple
times, and Mark assisted me well. He then had to unhook my fly from the back of my fleece. I
don't think I could have survived fishing alone today, with all my mishaps. Hopefully, I become
savvier as the trip and fish continue. As we walked back up the bank, I motioned to a young
man fishing up the creek, pointing to the confluence of the creeks with a thumbs-up, and he
nodded, and swooped there as we got onto the bridge.

Dined on soul-food, tuna casserole, that Mark makes so expertly. Listening and gazing at the
creek as I write.

East Denali Highway

June 21st

Fathers' Day. I find myself longing for one, missing my dad, who died in 1985. This aging thing is a wavering subjective rolller-coaster of perceiving myself as sometimes younger than I am, feeling and thinking the same as in my twenties, thirties, and then the next ache, photo, mirror's gaze shows someone who looks much like Marion Kim, senior, and whose bod is processing through what I dub "the used car syndrome." Periodically now for years, I think how wonderful it would be to have a mother to care for me, to whom I can just rattle on, knowing I can, because there is that core acceptance (even though Mom worried much, too, a mother's perogative). Being an orphan is not restricted to the young.

Today, I acknowledged some of my father friends, and celebrated Mark throughout the day with pleasantries, restaurant breakfast of his fave eggs benedict in Glennellen (the young waitress was swamped, due to her hostess and co-waitress calling in sick, but we were acknowledging and supportive, in no hurry), made him lunch in "M," salmon din-din (which he can only BBQ the most tender and moist steak), a Da Ku Cultural Center red t-shirt and card. All his kids and grand-babes called him before we got out of cell range, which was sweet. I wished Doug a good day, and was glad he and Chuck were going kayaking in BC, this morning. Hopefully, Max and Lucy will call later.

 

Leaving camp, we made it to the Denali Hwy. early afternoon. This narrow, paved (for 21 miles, then gravel for over 100) road feels and looks different already, with no black spruce forests (only very sparse groves occasionally), and vast, low tundra brush carpeting on rolling hills, ringed by the Alaskan, Wrangell and Chugash mountain ranges. It is very hazey in the north, with smoke from fires, from the Wrangell area and south of Denali, potentially. We check-in with folks, consistently, to assess where fires are, and are safe. Mark also said there would road postings about closures, as well.

 

 

There was a female moose standing knee-deep in one of the kettle lakes (glaciers underground melted, forming these waters throughout this roadway), foraging for vegetation, submerging her head and neck, and with her ears flattened like a wet dog when she arises and then shakes her ears straight up. We watched her for several minutes, and she didn't flinch, until two other rigs came up, and Mark got out to photograph her. She then trotted out and across the highway into the tundra, where she disappeared (I was surprised how tall the brush is) immediately.

We visited with the Tangle Lake camp host, Denny, with nipple-length white beard, ruddy complexion, and pleasant disposition. He's been doing this for 4 years, and Mark remembered him from his last two stays. The government built him a small shed, where he sits on a camp chair, if raining, and stores his belongings; otherwise, his small black, angular trailer houses a small bed and probably some form of cooking equipment. He winters in Michigan, caring for his mother, giving respite rotation to his several local siblings. It's free rent, he said, after sharing frustration that he is expected to stay with the parent more months than them, and he's the oldest, he rationalizes. There are 45 sites in this campground, and Denny may consider moving to one with fewer sites, eventually. He is pleasant, engaging, and seemed to enjoy talking with Mark about RVs, engines, techy stuff.

The south side of this pleasant campground is fairly clear, so "M" faces out over the Tangle river and hills in the background. We'll christen Mark's early b'day gift to me, of a spinning rod, either in the river or one of the Tangle Lakes, via kayak or shore. His shoulder will not stand for paddling, so he may go a bit out, and I may also tow him coming back out from exploring further. We'll see. So many other delights to choose from, if this doesn't work---no worries (this was the consistent reassurance phrase echoed by most young Canadians).

Valdez

June 19th

 

 

Headed to Valdez today, with many glaciated mountains again, and a side walk to the Worthington Glacier. An outfitter was taking a group of young adults up there with crampons. It was a shorter than usual drive today, so we made camp on Dayville Road, which was on the outskirt of town, overlooking the Prince William Sound and the mountains. Valdez could be seen across the water. It was another quiet site for us, and felt great being there earlier, able to clean "M", re-doing a pedicure, Mark cleaning out the trailer and fixing it's door (what a guy, with his fabulous and thorough tool collection), sitting in comfy chairs on warm day, taking in the scene.

We drove into Valdez for marketing, gas, walked along the waterfront, saw a mama grizzly and the tiniest of cubs cross in front of us on the road, and into the woods by a pond. That makes 3 grizzes, so far! Parking by the waterfront later, we had tea-time, donuts and drinks. Relaxing. In town, both of us felt like we've been backpacking on freeze-dried foods for eons, so a roasted chicken (something that looked like a real fowl) was bought at the local Safeway, a box of Stove-Top dressing (Mark's regular), and we feasted with broccoli added, in "M." So good...

I finished my Farley Mowat book, which was hilarious and a joy to read. Maybe Vicky or Lael would enjoy inheriting it. Talked to Lucy, Max and Doug today, which is always a familiar cozy to do.

June 20th

 

 

What a fun day, starting at 8:45 a.m., with a 2.5 hour road bike ride towards town, on Valdez' lovely, smooth bicycle trail, that borders woods, rivers and creeks. Mark spotted a, maybe, merganzer mama duck with at least 16 ducklings, and got a couple of great shots of them. On the way back to camp, we did a self-tour of the salmon hatchery, were amused by a row of about 10-12 seagull nests perched under the bridge overlooking the spawning stream and hatchery fences. When I looked up, there was a light brown coyote on the road, so we sped up, got on our bikes, and Mark tore after him, trying to keep a good, sneaky distance from him/her, so he could get a photo. Coyote stayed on the road for quite awhile, which was surprising, but sensed this red jacketed, fast-moving being was racing him, and finally ducked into the woods. It was like watching a young boy going after this wild thing. Joyful, really and quite fun.

We got to shower, our usual every other day ritual, and we will probably expand the period to 3 days, once we get to Denali, which is very do-able for me now. It's been fun experimenting with few longer hair and "equipment," e.g. different widths of headbands to tuck greasy hair into, and for new looks. A town run for more trail bars, a dump and water site, and lunch was next.

The Valdez folks were all so pleasant and helpful, at the visitor center and at Captain Joe's gas station, where they offered free dump and potable water. I bought a couple of gratis M&M and Kit Kats, as a thank you. Mark and I lunched by the waterfront again (where we had tea-time donuts and drinks yesterday afternoon), on Safeway deli sandwiches, and he took some photos of an outdoor wedding with guitarist, afterwards. The wedding/reception was under a lovely white tent outdoors by the water.

 

 

 

 

Driving back north on the Richardson Hwy., with Denali Hwy. as the destination over the next 7 days, we scored again on a free and beautiful viewed camp, overlooking the Copper River, the Wrangell mountains and glaciers of 16000+ feet, with a carpet of boreal forest in-between. It's been nice having places to take an evening stroll at most of our camps, so this was a flat, easy stroll down the old highway, single lane road. It's quiet now, but earlier a black-curtained storm was starting to move and shade the peaks, with thunder and lightning in the distance. Daylight still at 8, with Mark dozing and snoring on the sofa. I'll start a book I've had on my shelf for a long time, The Color of Water, by James McBride, which I am reminded of occasionally, the latest on NPR.

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.