Creel Photography

A WHIRLWIND TOUR OF ALASKA

For much of my life, Alaska has beckoned. I wouldn’t say that I have felt the intense beckoning that so many feel: that desire to brave harsh winters, the need to put aside all but the most basic modern conveniences, the overbearing urge to re-connect with nature, or the longing to plunge headlong into the icy waters of total self-dependence. No, I would say my beckoning is more of a call to dip my toe into the waters that represent my perception of the Alaskan way of life. Well, at least as much as could be experienced in a one-week whirlwind vacation.

Alaska is huge. As the floatplane pilot teased upon learning we were visiting from Texas… “I guess you didn’t know that Texas will fit into Alaska 2½ times.” What are you supposed to say to that? I chose to say nothing and let my ego take a hit. After all, it is true that if Alaska were cut in half Texas would be the third largest State.

In my mind, a map is incapable of representing the vast landscape of this expansive state. When superimposed over a map of the lower 48, Alaska stretches East to West over an area that covers from Jacksonville, FL to the west coast, and North to South over an area that covers from Jacksonville, FL to just shy of the Canadian border. This hit home after a week’s travel by car in which we had only covered a miniscule part of the expanse that is Alaska. We knew going in that we would spend much time in the car in order to accomplish all we desired in such a short amount of time, but we were badly mistaken on time estimates to travel between destinations. The error in our calculations stem from the fact that highways in Alaska are not like highways in other parts of the United States: they are mostly one-lane affairs. We didn’t run into the legendary construction that so many travel guides warn against (seeing that the amount of time road crews have to repair roads is impacted by the long, harsh winters), but we did encounter the tourists that drive their vehicles at the pace of the combine they drive on their mid-American farms.

We have encountered the slow tourist driver before, but previously it had been for a reason. The first place we encountered this was Yellowstone National Park where traffic jams are caused by cars stopping on the road to view wildlife. I term this phenomenon the “Yellowstone Effect” and have witnessed it many times in other places. Being a photographer I consistently have people pull off the road where I am photographing to ask me what I am “taking a picture of,” thus initiating an incident of the Yellowstone Effect. Normally, these people leave muttering under their breath about what a weirdo I am when they are not impressed with the flowers or landscape I am scoping out. The odd thing about the slow drivers in Alaska is that it is rarely due to the Yellowstone Effect. It is possible that they were admiring the scenery on the move (as were we), but there was no need to do it at 45 mph when the majestic vistas were often viewable for miles at a time. Perhaps they were one of the thousands of people who spend their entire summer in Alaska and can afford to do their touring at a snail’s pace.

ANCHORAGE

Our trip began and ended in the largest city, Anchorage, with a population of 270,000, representing 42% of the population of Alaska. Anchorage is a modern city with all the modern conveniences…except Starbuck’s. Upon passing the small Starbuck’s kiosk on our way out of the airport, we had no idea we wouldn’t see another until we returned to the airport for the flight home a week later. Later on, while touring the downtown area, we discovered that another Starbuck’s is under construction, but by then my theory that a Starbuck’s is on every corner, of every street, all across the country was proven false.

The downtown area of Anchorage is lovely (as downtown areas go). We found it to be clean, safe, panhandler-free, and overrun with souvenir stores eager to take our money. Most of all, it has the “5^th Avenue Mall”, a multi-level affair that houses all the typical stores you find at any mall in America. This is just what Rachael looks for on vacation. I do not understand what is so attractive about shopping in different cities at the same stores we have at home, but it makes her happy so I just smile, fork over the traveler’s checks, and tag along for the ride.

Choices for dining are abundant in Anchorage (even when the abundant espresso shops on every corner are not counted). Many of the national chains are represented, but local flavor is also abundant. We dined two nights in Anchorage. One night, we dined at Orso Ristorante downtown. Orso is a trendy eatery that is popular with the local business crowd, as would be expected with any restaurant that spells “restaurant” as “ristorante.” The walls are adorned with Orso-commissioned images from the Tuscan region of Italy, taken by a local photographer. Although the waiting list was stacked deep with local yuppies, the first come first served area near the bar had a few empty spots so we wedged ourselves in to enjoy the meal. I chose their long-line caught rockfish, which is pan-roasted in a tomato vinaigrette sauce, and comes with peanut potatoes and summer squash. Rachael chose to eat the smoked salmon chowder and house salad. The food, the ambiance, and the service were all impeccable resulting in a fine dining experience.

The other restaurant we visited was the Sourdough Mining Co. Restaurant, which is decorated with relics of the historic gold-rush era that shaped Alaska’s past. The honey butter blends well with the homemade sourdough bread (which is also apparently a big deal in Alaska judging by the volumes of sourdough recipe books I found in shops throughout the state), but the blackened salmon was heavy on the blackening and light on taste. Overall, the experience was worth the modest price of the food.

Following our meal at the Sourdough Mining Co. Restaurant, we walked across the street to the Alaska Wild Berry Products Store. This unique store houses the world’s largest chocolate waterfall made from 3400 lbs. of melted chocolate cascading from a height of twenty feet. The store specializes in Alaskan gifts such as smoked salmon, chocolates, and an abundance of jams and jellies from native berries. All flavors of their jams, popcorns, chocolates, and other confections are available for tasting so I left stuffed. Their overall best seller is their salmonberry jam. I am not sure if it really contains the salmon fish, or a berry called “salmon berry”, but either way it tastes a lot better than it sounds.

Many activities originate from Anchorage including fishing trips, hikes, sightseeing tours, and flightseeing. We scheduled a flightseeing trip departing from the Lake Hood Seaplane Base, saving it for the last day of our stay. Lake Hood is the busiest floatplane airport in the world, with nearly 90,000 flights a year and over 400 available slips to dock planes.

Our flight was to take us to Denali National Park for a trip around the great mountain, but weather in the Denali area changed our trip with Rust’s Flying Service to a quick jaunt around Knik Glacier near the Palmer/Wasilla area. I was surprised at the ease with which our Cessna lifted off the water, and even more surprised at the smooth landing with very little impact felt. The hour and a half flight to and around the glacier and drainage area was relatively smooth, except when flying over the glacier itself. The wind coming down the glacier moved the small plane, but never was it anything that I would call real turbulence. The lady in the seat next to the pilot disagreed. When the pilot asked her if she was all right (the green around the gills was the tip off), her mother informed us that her daughter gets sick in such situations. Why she chose to take a trip in a small plane that is more prone to reacting to weather I will never know. The pilot opened a small window so she could get some fresh air (try that on a 757) and she managed to make the entire trip without losing her breakfast. Once we had landed, she was the first off the plane, made a quick trip to the car, left, and never looked back. For some reason I do not think she enjoyed the flight.

The scenery around Knik glacier was fascinating. Looking down on the glacier, we were able to see the vast crevices and the brilliant blue melt water that accumulates in certain areas on the surface. We cruised at what seemed like about 100 feet above the ice, so we were really able to see the intricate details that make up the long glacier. At the base of the glacier is a melt lake that in colder weather serves as a landing strip for floatplanes. With icebergs floating around the lake while we were there, the pilot did not attempt to make the landing on the small lake. He explained to us that it takes only a short length of water to land, but it takes a bit more to take off. There are a number of variables that figure into the amount of water needed to take off, such as salinity of the water, weight of the plane, air temperature, wind speed and direction, and how daring the pilot feels. He mentioned that every pilot lands in a spot or two in his/her career that they think better of after the deed has been done. Usually, fuel is jettisoned and any supplies are discarded before attempting to take off. Many times they will return with a smaller plane (if available) to pick up the items left behind.

Flying floatplanes, which oftentimes trade the floats for skis in winter, is a way of life for many Alaskans. In fact, in 1996 one out of every 58 Alaskans was a registered pilot. That represents six times as many pilots and 14 times as many planes per capita than any other state. A vast majority of Alaska cannot be reached by car, but fortunately Alaska is blessed with an abundance of lakes (approximately 3 million that cover at least 20 acres, take that Minnesota), rivers, and seashores providing access to wilderness. Floatplanes are used to deliver supplies, deliver passengers, take folks sightseeing, provide access to fly-in fishing spots, and to deliver those seeking wilderness adventures such as rafting trips, hunting, or backcountry backpacking. On the dock from which we departed, we saw one plane being loaded with pieces of a pontoon boat that were to be flown to a remote lake, where it would re-assembled to replace a boat that was crushed by ice over the winter. A separate plane was being loaded down with supplies that it was to deliver to oil exploration personnel further north.

AREAS NORTH OF ANCHORAGE

Across the State you will find signs that detail the number of moose killed by cars over the winter. The areas north of Anchorage and before reaching the Palmer/Wasilla area seem to be a hotbed for collisions during the most active season for moose movement. I’m not sure if there is a larger population of moose in this area, or if there is a larger number of vehicles, but the number of moose killed in this area is staggering. Nearly 400 moose were killed in the winter of 2003-2004 alone. Smaller numbers were reported in other areas of the State, but every sign we saw reported at least 150 moose deaths.

In our travels it was easy to see why these collisions occur. We saw a number of these lumbering giants crossing roads, grazing in roadside ditches, and walking in the middle of streams and rivers. A number of times, these animals were responsible for bringing our car to a screeching halt when we spied them on the side of the road. In one instance, a calf was grazing in the tall grass near a small lake. After quickly getting out our camera and video gear, we eased along the shoulder of the road in an attempt to get closer. Cautious to make sure we did not come between the calf and its mother (who was nowhere to be seen), we stopped a safe distance away for photos. After a brief while, the gangly calf was spooked by a series of passing cars and awkwardly rambled off toward the shoreline not to be seen again. The population of these animals must be gigantic given the number we saw while driving and flightseeing.

Palmer/Wasilla

Fishing for salmon brought us to the Palmer/Wasilla area. Arriving at 5:30A.M. to meet our guide, the morning was cool, the water on the Little Susitna River was cold, and the air was thick with mosquitoes. Not only were there zillions of mosquitoes, but also they were all gigantic in size. Rachael is a mosquito magnet, and since these buggers had seemingly developed immunity to repellent, the combination was a volatile mixture. Needless to say, Rachael spent more time smacking mosquitoes than fishing this day.

There are a number of different types of Salmon that spawn in Alaskan rivers and streams, and they begin their upstream voyages at different times of the year. We were fishing for King Salmon, the largest of the salmon species. King Salmon can grow to be around 90 lbs. in some areas of the State (notably the famous Katmai River on the Katmai Peninsula), but the river in which we fished would periodically produce fish in the 70-75 lb. range.

I had noticed that all the boats in this area were flat-bottomed, and jet-propelled instead propeller-driven. This allows the boats to maneuver in shallow water without scraping the outboard motor on the rocks.

Mid-morning, I hooked into a big salmon that jumped out of the water revealing a dark red coloring. King Salmon become more red the longer they are in the river, and the fact that this one was so dark indicated it had already been in the river for quite a while and would not be worth eating. Nevertheless, I really wanted my picture taken with this monster since the guide estimated it to be around 60 lbs. After a five minute fight, the fish was tired of playing with me and finally jumped out of the water one last time, shivered like a wet dog, and spit the lure. I was sick to have lost it, but at the same time my adrenaline was pumping and I was itching for another bite.

Thirty minutes or so later, I set the hook on another nice salmon, determined to get this one to the boat. I was also happy to see after the first time it came up out of the water it was not the deep red color of the first, meaning it was worthy of gracing my grill. Fifteen minutes of fighting later, the guide (I call him Uncle Jesse due to his remarkable resemblance to the character from the Dukes of Hazard) netted my prize that weighed in at 37 lbs. After Uncle Jesse filleted the fish, I shipped home 22 lbs. worth of wild salmon ready to be grilled. While it is true that I could buy the equivalent amount of meat at any grocery store for much less than what my 22 lbs. cost, it would not have be near as fun, nor can a price tag be put on the memories created.

Talkeetna

About 2½ hours North of Anchorage, a side road veers to the small village of Talkeetna. Talkeetna serves as the Southern entrance to the Denali National Park area. Although the official entrance to Denali is still 2½ hours away, the mountain dominates the landscape and towers above neighboring peaks. In fact, I am told that the mountain can be viewed from certain spots in Anchorage on clear days. The mountain truly is enormous.

Talkeetna is generally the origination point for climbers that dare attempt to climb Denali. Supplies and climbers are usually flown to either Kahiltna or Ruth Glacier by a ski plane, an elevation of 7200 feet. As climbers tend to be free spirits, the village reflects the same trait. The village is made up of a few small bed and breakfasts, small hotels, quaint eateries, souvenir shops, and more than its fair share of art galleries.

With photography being my art of choice, I was happy to see a handful of galleries dedicated to Alaskan photographers. One in particular, Denali Photos, was particularly impressive. The owner and principle photographer, a young lady named Amy Whitledge, was present the day I stopped in and was gracious enough to discuss aerial photography techniques, the digital revolution, and a number of other topics that would quickly put any non-photographer to sleep. Her prints of Denali are popular with the climbing community as they allow them to chart routes, and offer a piece of art that they can take home for the sake of reminiscence and braggadocio. She works in both the color and black and white formats, but I found her black and white prints to be far more elegant than color. A number of her prints also adorn the walls of the plush Wilderness Princess McKinley Lodge. I purchased a small print before leaving, my souvenir “find” for the trip.

Denali National Park

The drive from Talkeetna to the entrance to Denali National Park takes about 2½ hours if you can resist stopping at every turnout to view the glorious mountain vistas. Luckily, both days we were in range of the mountain, the mountain was “out” to be seen. This is not always true, as only a handful of the total visitors to the park get to see the peak in all its glory. Usually, the best time to view the mountain is in the morning, for as the day heats up, the clouds build and often obscure a large portion of the mountain. As the locals are fond to point out, “Denali makes its own weather.”

Mountain climbing and those that risk life and limb to participate in said activity fascinate me (an interest only intensified after reading Jon Krakauer’s classic Into Thin Air). Mountain climbers seem to have a fire within that is stoked by the dangerous feats they strive to accomplish. Yet, the majority of the decisions climbers must make they view as calculated, and are often not termed as risks at all. It is the latter that lead to the situations we all hear about in the media, for the ability to reason, to calculate risks, to think clearly is severely compromised at altitude. Studies have shown that mountaineers’ mental capacity is roughly 50% at elevations above 18,000 feet when measured against the start of the climb. Combine the reduction in mental capacity, the natural tendencies toward risk-taking, and the fact that the peak of Denali is 20,320 feet, it is easy to see how and why climbers can find themselves in perilous situations.

The art and science of climbing, and the technology supporting climbers has made steady advances in recent years. Now, an average of 50% of the 1300 climbers that attempt to summit Denali each year are successful. This is an astonishing statistic given the fact that not long ago many considered this achievement on par if not more difficult than conquering Mt. Everest at 29,035 feet (more than a mile and a half taller than Denali). At a latitude of 63° N, Denali is far more likely to have extremely cold temperatures and punishing winds of greater than 100 mph. As Peter Hackett put it in his book Surviving Denali:

“The Himalaya is tropical by comparison. On the South Col of Mount Everest (26,200 feet) in late October, the lowest temperature we recorded in 1981 was 17 degrees below zero. On Denali, this would be a rather warm night at only 14,300 feet in May and June. Temperatures between the high camp and the summit even in the middle of the summer, are routinely 20 to 40 degrees below and even lower at night. This combination of extreme weather and temperature pummels the unprepared.”

Being in the park toward the end of the climbing season (which runs from May through mid-June when snow bridges on the lower glaciers become unstable), I could not view the mountain without wondering just who was on the mountain, and what the difference in conditions were from the 70° temperatures we enjoyed. Both in form and legend, it is truly a magnificent mountain.

Green school buses are how visitors tour the park. These are not well-equipped motor coaches, but the no frills, stripped-down school bus that we all know. Nevertheless, creature comforts are not necessary when the attractions are the mountains, the animals, and the scenery.

The tour chose went 66 miles into the park before reversing course and ending where it started (there is only one road in the park). Along the way, a number of stops allowed us to disembark and take-in the scenery. Not only are the mountains spectacular, but so are the rivers, the streams, the valleys, and the foliage that makes up this tundra area. While beauty can be found in subtle ways almost anywhere, there is nothing subtle about the beauty on display in this park. As the bus rounded a curve a few miles before arriving at the Eilson Visitor’s Center at mile 66, Denali comes into view for the first time where it is viewable from base to peak. Breathtaking, and majestic are the only words that I can come up with that most closely describe the view. In fact, the entire bus broke into spontaneous applause at the first full view of the mountain.

If the mountain was the main attraction for me, the animals were the main attraction for Rachael. A herd of about 2000 caribou call Denali home, and we were fortunate to see a handful at various places along the route. The caribou in this area tend to stay in small groups as opposed to their northern cousins that roam in large herds. In June, they are still in velvet and seemed to be rather sedentary due to the higher than normal temperatures the area was experiencing.

While common throughout the state, it was in Denali where we were able to get closest to the Dall Sheep. We saw many of them in the distance at higher elevations where they go to avoid their main predator, the wolf, but we were also pleased to see a pair near the road. They were gracious enough to take a rest near an area where the bus driver had allowed us to disembark, so we were able to photograph them at short range. I have noticed that whenever wild animals are combined with a large congregation of tourists, there is always a handful of tourists that think they are at the zoo and end up far too close to the animals. This was the case in our visit as several knuckleheads merrily skipped their way down the road toward the animals in order to get a close-up shot with their throw away Kodak. Luckily for the rest of the group that was smart enough to keep a distance from animals with large horns and the capability to ram a human into tomorrow, the animals stayed calm and refrained from bolting. In fact, the sheep were kind enough to stay put so we could see them again several hours later on our return trip.

Once we had reached the visitor’s center, we hiked a ways down the hill to find a place to eat our packed lunch while gazing at Denali. An Arctic Ground Squirrel scurried up the hill toward us, or more accurately toward our lunch. Obviously, this little fellow was used to tourists as he sauntered right to my feet. In spite of the signs warning against feeding the animals, Rachael’s natural reaction was to throw food in the distance in order to lure the animal away from us. This worked…until he was through with his morsel and returned for more. Finally, we gave in and allowed the critter to stay at our feet to watch us eat and provide comic relief. After posing for a few photographs, he was off to find other suckers from which to beg bread.

The undeniable kings of the park are the Brown Bears (commonly called Grizzly Bears in other areas), and they were what everyone on our bus really wanted to see. We did see a few in the distance cooling themselves on patches of snow on the way in, but it was not until the return trip that we saw bears in range for photography. Actually, we were extremely fortunate to see a sow and her cub at a distance of about thirty yards as they meandered across a hillside. The cub, born in the den about three months earlier, was wary of the bus and spent much of the time peaking over its mother’s back, but was it ever cute! The “oohs” and “ahhs” uttered throughout the bus were many, and were all directed at the cub. The mother, approximately 700 lbs. according to the bus driver, was a lumbering beast with the look of a big teddy bear. The serene scene we witnessed was counterbalanced by the knowledge that these animals can be deadly on rare occasion when they are threatened. Although we have all heard horror stories about grizzlies, the Alaskan Brown Bears tend to be more inquisitive about humans than they are hostile. The proprietors of a bear tour company that leads trips to Katmai National Park relayed to us an event last summer where a group of observers had a pleasant close-encounter with Brown Bears. When a male approached a feeding sow and cub, the sow brought the cub over to the visiting humans where it remained eating its food while the sow continued to feed near the water. The males will often steal food from other feeding bears, so the suspected reason behind this unique behavior is that the sow knew the male would not bother the food of the cub while in the presence of humans. Whether that was the true reason or not, it must have been a treat for those present.

Very few accommodations in Alaska have air conditioners (including those with the highest ratings), and usually there is no need. However, with high temperatures being around 70° in the Denali areas, we called around, with no success, trying to find a room with air conditioning. The next day we stopped by a Wal-Mart in Wasilla to purchase a small fan that we carried with us for the rest of the trip.

Lodging in the park entrance area ranges from the affordable hostel, to the posh hotel. The Denali Princess Wilderness Lodge overlooks the Nenana River and has amenities such as outdoor hot tubs and spacious rooms. It also has a courtyard hotel where we dined on halibut sandwiches and salads with a lovely house dressing. We chose to stay at the more economical White Moose Lodge, which met our criteria of a clean room, clean shower, and a pillow upon which to rest our travel-weary heads. Aside from the pervasive mosquitoes in the area, it was an enjoyable stay.

Areas South of Anchorage
The history of Alaska has been shaped by years of “discovery.” It is thought that the first settler’s to this land came either across a now submerged Bering land bridge from Siberia, or by canoe from the south Pacific. Given the dissimilarities in native language from most Polynesian languages, it is most likely they walked across on ice from Siberia.

Following many years of isolation, Russians “discovered” the Aleutian islands of Alaska where they traded (or more accurately robbed) for furs. Before long, the Russians began trapping for themselves, enslaving natives to trap for them, or blackmailing the natives (the Unangan people) into giving them furs in return for not killing the natives. A few decades later, the Russian Orthodox Church brought “religion” to the Aleutian islands as well as the southern Alaskan mainland. Orthodox influence is still common in many places today.

By the late 1770’s when the British hero, Captain Cook, “discovered” Alaska, outside influence had already been entrenched in the native culture as witnessed by elements of their dress and decoration that reflected Russian influence. Captain Cook’s men, along with other voyagers in the years following, brought the natives metal for fishing hooks, beads, trinkets, and diseases that ravaged native population.

The United States purchased Alaska from the Russians and continued the task of taming Alaska. The “discovery” of gold brought about a rush of new immigrants from the lower states. World War II brought about bombing and invasion by Japanese troops and interment of native Aleutian islanders into southeast Alaska where many died from disease. Given the proximity of Alaska to Russia, the cold war era brought new military bases and an influx of troops that fell in love with Alaska and made it their permanent home after military discharge. Today, many of the modern conveniences enjoyed in the lower 48 are available throughout much of Alaska and the wildness is only a shadow of what it once was. This transformation of Alaska mirrors many societies, and is best described by Joseph Banks (the botanist that accompanied Captain Cook on his first journey) as having allowed “luxuries to rapidly degenerate into necessities.”

Seward

Located on the southeastern side of the Kenai Peninsula, the city of Seward is tourist’s nirvana. Having a deep harbor, it is a stop on the cruise ship circuit and a jumping off point for excursions associated with cruises. Yet, somehow this small town has managed to retain much of its charm.

Although a number of commercial fishing operations are still based out of Seward, I got the idea that this town was once much more dependent upon the industry. A large “conveyor” belt extends into the harbor (Resurrection Bay) connecting fishing vessels to the cannery on the other end, and other relics of sea dependency from days gone-by are evident in the town.

Today, Seward retains its connection to the sea, but in a different way from the past. Located in Kenai Fjords National Park, the port is home to a number of tours that concentrate on whale watching, and glacier viewing. On our visit, we chose to spend a day aboard the Viewfinder, operated by Renown Charters.

Piloted by a real-life Captain Hook, our cruise departed mid-morning with a smallish crowd since we were at the beginning of tourist season. A few miles out of harbor, we spotted Humpback whales off the starboard side. While we were never able to get too close to these whales, and we were never able to see the full tail indicating a sounding dive, it was still an impressive sight to witness such large marine mammals. Moments later, we came upon a pod of Orca Whales that was being followed by a research vessel. As we coasted toward them, they swam toward us and before long we were seeing them on all sides of the boat. As frenzied tourists scrambled from rail to rail, I was able to stake a claim on the port side for a few photographs. Again, we were never able to see them in their most spectacular mode of full breach, but the viewing did cause me to hum the theme to Free Willy for the rest of the day (against my will of course).

As we neared the mouth of the fjord, the water became a bit choppy and the swells more pronounced. A small rock island at the point of the fjord was adorned with a number of sea lions. The vessel we were on is taking part in a study with the University of Alaska Institute of Marine Science in Seward, a marriage of science and tourism. We circumnavigated the rock and counted the number of Sea Lions to track the daily and yearly fluctuations in population. I always knew my biology degree would come in handy some day!

Holgate Glacier was the next stop on the tour. As we dodged small ice floes on the way to the glacier, the air became noticeably cooler as the ice cools the wind sweeping down the glacier. Once we had arrived at a point about 1/2 of a mile from the glacier, Captain Hook shut off the engines and allowed the vessel to drift in virtual silence…until the glacier began calving large chunks of ice into the sea. While it seemed the calved ice was relatively small from a distance, the actual size of these pieces were rather large and created a loud booming sound and sizeable concentric waves. Contrary to what one might think, the boat slowly drifted away from the glacier as the current produced by the flowing of water from the bottom of the glacier, aided by the wind, counteracts the effect of the waves from the ocean. Some thirty minutes later, the Captain restored power to the boat and I returned to the cabin to thaw my fingers and nose. I was truly impressed by the immensity of the glacier and the power displayed in its calving.

A part of Kenai Fjords National Park, called Exit Glacier, is located a few miles outside of town. The evening following our cruise, I drove out to Exit Glacier where I guess I should not have been surprised to find only one other car in the parking lot seeing that it was already 9:30 at night. I strapped on my 40 lbs. worth of photography gear for about a mile hike, on which I encountered not another soul, to the foot of the glacier.

Pedestrians are allowed to a point about 50 yards from the ice at the foot of the glacier. A number of small streams drained from the bottom of the glacier, along with one small river. After photographing a number of compositions, I loaded up my gear and hiked up another ¼ mile or so to an overlook higher up the glacier. By this time, it was approaching 11PM, but I still had more than enough light to effectively produce photographs. The chasms and fissures of the ice, noticeable from this higher vantage point on the side of the ice, were fascinating to me. The creaking and crumbling of the glacier helped me to understand how dangerous it must be to hike on top of these constantly moving rivers of ice, a task that is common with climbers and explorers in other parts of the state.

Additional trails lead higher up the mountain and offer more views of the Harding Ice Field, and I must say I was tempted to continue hiking. Unfortunately, my body was telling me it was time to snooze and more importantly I had promised Rachael I would not stay gone long. She is understanding concerning my call to the wild.

While in Seward, we stayed at the Hotel Seward, which had recently been renovated. I knew it was run by good, local, people when we saw the dog at the side of the lady at the front desk. Clean sheets, clean shower, and a coffee maker. What more can you ask for?

One evening, we ate at Ray’s Waterfront, a harbor-side seafood restaurant with a nice view of the local boats, as well as an impromptu dinner show put on for us by a sea otter. I dined on the Thai scallops, an overly seasoned mix of scallops, vegetables, and a Thai peanut sauce. Always the adventurous one, Rachael feasted on the house salad and sourdough bread. The second evening, we dined at Chinook’s Waterfront Restaurant, also offering a view of the leisurely paced goings on in the harbor. At Chinook’s I tried the crab and shrimp stuffed halibut filet, an excellent meal as evidenced upon leaving by my bulging abdomen. Going out on a limb, Rachael tried the Caesar salad and creamy clam chowder. To her surprise, she liked the chowder.

Both mornings, we dined at the Bakery at the Harbor. Specializing in whole grain, breads, danishes, and bear claws, the bakery did a brisk morning business and is an obvious favorite of the locals. I enjoyed the whole grain raspberry muffins, while Rachael liked the cheese danishes.

Homer

As the crow flies, Homer is west south west of Seward on the Kenai Peninsula. Unfortunately for those of us without wings, the Harding Ice Field and many mountains separate the two towns. Thus, one must drive north a ways, west for a time, and then head south a bit, a process that takes about 4-5 hours (taking into account stops for moose of course).

Homer is, as local bumper stickers state, “a drinking town with a fishing problem”, or a little rough around the edges to be more polite. Billing itself as the Halibut fishing capital of Alaska, Homer supplements its commercial fishing industry with halibut chartering (the true fishing capital belongs to a city in the Aleutian Islands called Dutch Harbor which processes approximately 50% of all the fish harvested in the United States).

Another claim to fame for Homer is their 4.5 mile long Spit. Each June, residents walk a 4.5 mile long road spitting constantly in hopes that it will keep the tsunami gods at bay. OK, so that was a tale! A Spit is actually a narrow strip of land that extends into a bay, and the Homer Spit is the center of life for the community. Halibut charters, the bustling harbor, float plane offices, boat tours, souvenir shops, RV facilities, and the Land’s End Resort call this narrow piece of real estate home. Two theories exist concerning the origin of the Spit. One asserts that the Spit is an accumulation of deposited sand, coal, and silt formed by prevailing currents. The second theory is the temporary halting of a receding glacier during the most recent ice age formed the Spit. Either way it is a fascinating geographic anomaly that was almost wiped out by the great earthquake of 1964.

We were in Homer to board a float plane that was to take us across Cook Inlet to Katmai National Park where we were to spend a day observing and photographing brown bears in their native habitat. We had planned this part of the trip nearly six months in advance, and were viewing it as the highlight of the trip. We were told to check in with the main office on the Spit the night before the trip in order to confirm our presence in the city, but were told when checking in that our trip had been cancelled due to high winds and rain across the Inlet. Disappointed but understanding, we got our refund from Bald Mountain Air and retired to our hotel.

Our hotel was the Land’s End Resort at the farthest point on the Spit. The resort was nice, the rooms were clean, an outdoor hot tub with a view of the mountains across the bay was present, a spa is on premises, and a “gym” was available for use. We ate at the Resort’s restaurant, the Chart Room, with a view of the bay and the distant mountains. Hoping to walk off some pains from sitting in a car for many hours, Rachael and I headed to the “gym.” We arrived to find a hot tub, and a stationary bicycle, but no treadmill. Instead, we took a late evening walk around the harbor to look at the many boats and to watch the Bald Eagles that call the Spit home.

Anecdotes

Aside from the “Yellowstone Effect” that I have already discussed, I have also noticed another phenomenon that occurs in National Parks and other places with high-density tourists. Let us call this the “stupid tourist syndrome.” Let me illustrate with a few occurrences that happened on our Alaskan trip:

- After seeing the first bear in Denali, a woman shouted for the bus driver to stop because she had spotted a “bear.” Once she had explained to everyone where she was looking, we were able to identify the “bear” as a piece of road maintenance equipment stationed in the valley below. I guess road graders tend to take on bear like characteristics as they age.

- Another woman in Denali saw animals meandering down a slope and shouted out for all the bus riders to see the “elk” she had spied. After a brief chuckle the bus driver politely corrected her by telling her she was actually seeing elk. I guess the lyrics of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Elk might work.

- While chatting with Captain Hook on the boat in Kenai Fjords, a man entered the wheelhouse to ask the good Captain what elevation we were at while we cruised across the sea. I guess the Captain gets the question a lot since he was able to tell him “sea level” without even cracking a smile. When the man responded that “he didn’t think that was possible since we were so far North and mountains surrounded us”, I left the cabin so I could laugh out loud.

At the many places along the road where we encountered construction, we noticed that many of the worker’s were women. This was surprising given the rare occasions we have witnessed women serving this role in other places we have lived or visited. However, we also noticed that women were given the more menial task of holding the “stop” and “slow” signs instead of the more active tasks associated with construction work.