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We were running parallel to the Alaskan Range,
which allowed us to stay pretty high on the hills,
with good views of the valleys. Occasionally we
would dip down and cut across. Once in a while
we came across a family of Ptarmigans.
Fortunately, the driver stopped and pointed them
out. We saw five of them, 3 chicks. The adults
had already lost their winter white and now in
camouflage, almost impossible to see in the
underbrush.
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Here’s a view from one hilltop ridge to another.
It wasn’t always this photogenic.. Sometimes
after a hairpin turn where our back tires bumped
across open air and the drop was a couple
hundred feet straight down. The driver would
casually tell us that we were at Polychrome Hill
and how it got it’s name, from the multiple
colors. We could also, if not holding on for dear
life look down the valley. That, if you could
muster the thought was beautiful, and how
magnificent it would be in the fall, or August,
when all the low growing bushes and plants
would turn into reds, oranges, and yellows.
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Our first official stop was about 40 miles out, at a
place called Eielson Center, named for an early
Alaskan aviator, it was rustic, with a toilet,
interpretative pictures, and a couple of trails.
You can see from the picture that the area is wide
open, low tundra, with a braided river at it’s base.
We took a walk along the shortest of the trails
that looped along the ridge and down into the
valley. It was pretty, being tundra, with low
bushes, and few trees we could see a long way.
We felt comfortable and safe.
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A week later we would read that a hiker had been
bitten and badly mauled by a bear on that very
loop. It was said that the lady, walking alone
between Strong Mountain and Story Hill
surprised a Sow and her cubs. She waved with
her arms and yelled, but the bear charged. She
presumably did everything the bear book, and
Ranger had recommended, bending down,
covering her neck with her hands, and being still.
The bear, bit her arm, her hand and scratched her
head, before leaving her. She had not moved
during the attack and was able to get back to the
parking lot where she was given medical
attention. .
Arlene, on the loop trail is dressed for the
weather, it’s cool, and we could expect rain
anytime. What we couldn’t see was the Alaskan
Mountain Range that was just behind us to the
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south. It was covered with clouds. As we had
mentioned Mt McKinley makes it’s own weather,
and this was an example of it.
Don’t you just love her hair. She doesn’t think
so but I think she has just the right amount of it.
A small snack kiosh sold Cliff bars and cheese
sticks. A toilet stop and a short walk later we
were back on the bus heading further west
toward our destination. We had gotten the idea
that the entire trip would be looking across these
green valleys, and clutching the handrails on the
dangerous narrow road.
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Unless something remarkable would happen we
probably wouldn’t see any caribou, bears or
moose. We could hold out for some of the birds,
as Denali is known for its flight paths, and
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hospitality towards them. We’d heard, not only
from the lecture, but also understood there were
enough mosquitoes to feed the entire American
population.
The rumors about how beautiful and stunning
the mountains, how close we were getting to The
Great One, had long since been shelved, and
forgotten. We had our view, and excitement a
couple of days ago. How fortunate we had been.
But for a tantalizing moment here is a map of
Wonder Lake, by the Interior Department. The
picture was obviously taken during the winter.
It’s spectacular, and you can only imagine how
dog sleds and snowmobiles are the only way to
travel in the snow. It’s not what we encountered
in the summer of 1997, and all the amenities
show what a few thousand tourists can do to
encourage to upgrade a place. Too bad that it
hasn’t taken hold over our entire National Park
System.
Wonder Lake is 28 miles from Mt McKinley. The
distance is deceiving.
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When we arrived, there were only a few tent sites,
a pit toilet a shelter, and a rustic over grown road
headed further west to a mine. Maybe the young
campers from the train were here.
The lake and campground were over the hill
some distance from our parking lot.
On the horizon of this picture are clouds, or fog.
Even with our imagination we couldn’t see any
mountains much less Denali, ‘The Tall One’.
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I had mentioned the fog. The lake is immersed
in it. One of the issues we ran into with our
many pictures of Mt McKinley. Between the lake
and where we stood was the campground. If you
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can imagine there are tents out there. And even
more amazing are the people that inhabit them.
They probably are some of the young men and
women we saw get off the train with their
backpacks. Down there with mosquito netting
over their heads, and if our experience is
indicative, wrapped in heavy, bite proof clothing.
It’s not always so easy to appreciate. Right out
here we can see, we can feel, we must fight off
yet we get bitten to death by the State Bird, the 6-
foot Mosquito. The one we’ve read and seen
models. Like heat seeking missiles they are
attracted to us. They swoop down in black
masses, clouds of them after a little blood, until
there is little left except a skeleton of what was
once a reasonable human being.
There would be legions of stories about these
hideous flying creatures. Creatures with no
defense from them. There would be so many
stories that they would overwhelm the Sasquatch
stories. These mosquitoes exist and anyone can
have their own nightmarish experience with
them. Not so with ‘Big Foot’.
The driver set a time limit for us before we
arrived. We’d stay for 15 minutes, with no
excuses. He would leave after that. Even then he
advised us that the bus would be full of the pests,
and only after 10 miles or so with all the windows
open would we be rid of most of them in 15
minutes.
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We had lunch, giggling and bouncing along the
road as the bus headed back toward Eielson and
on to the park headquarters. Outside, we passed
more Tundra and low growing green valleys than
we will ever again see. Here is one of our last
pictures of this magnificent land.
Today started with rain, but it has stopped and
we thought we’d go over to the dog kennels and
say hello to them. They are kept by the park
rangers, and during the winter are a primary
source of transportation. During the summer
they are mostly used for exhibits. And boy do
they love the exercise, pulling the sleds down and
around a circular gravel driveway.
It’s several miles up to the kennels, so we wore
our foul weather gear and took off with a couple
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of bars, cheese sticks and water in our knapsack.
The path was the same one we walk to the hotel
for evening lectures, only its extended far beyond
that. Even though it parallels the road it’s
isolated and we made plenty of noise all the way.
The dogs live in a open fenced area, each with
their own house or shed. The shelters are small,
which is a good idea so a dog can stay warm with
their own body heat during the winter. When we
got there many were outside, and lounging on
top of their houses. Thirty in all.
Here’s one tethered to a pole outside it’s house.
The Rangers gathered us all around and told us
several stories about the dogs and how useful
they were during the winter. We got a short
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lecture on the sleds, how light they were and the
enormous amount of goods they carry.
They reminded me of the way tennis rackets used
to be made with layers of light wood pressed
together.
When it was time to call the dogs over and
harness them, several Rangers handled one at a
time. The dogs, jumped and barked with
excitement, and were glad to be chosen. Two
Rangers had their hands full getting the harnesses
around them and settled down before they could
go on to another. These animals weren’t your
usual house pet, they had much more energy,
stamina, were half wild, and flourished in the
cold.
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Here are, five ready to race down the path and
around the bend back to the kennel. They took
off like a rocket, showing no effort pulling the
empty sled and Ranger across the gravel. They
were happy to do it.
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We bought a pizza tonight. Sometimes we do
dumb things like that; it was not very good and
cost a lot. It surely, wasn’t like Francesca’s in
Suffield, Connecticut. We ate what we could and
threw the rest in the garbage.
This evening we discussed our plans, our budget
and our stay here in Denali. Tomorrow we
decided would be our last day here. We would
pay our bills, evaluate our financial condition, and
see if we could sell our remaining tours and days
at our site to other campers.
We feel Denali has been done. Each day we have
relaxed and enjoyed ourselves. We’ve been on
several hikes, around Horseshoe Lake, Savage
River, and the Mountain lookout, we’ve taken
one tour to the end of the road, and listened to
lots of lectures. Staying longer wouldn’t help us
understand or appreciate this country any more
than we do.
Our stay here has been swell, but we also have
some concerns. Among them is Denali’s
management. The Park is run with a limited
access policy, one road. There are too few buses
to accommodate all these tourists, and are
ridiculously uncomfortable.
There is only one story from all the Rangers. By
definition they say ‘what a wonderful place’. It is,
yet there is no reality included in their stories.
Rather it’s don’t be afraid of the large animals.
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But while we were there a bear mauled one hiker,
and a couple of tourists had been trampled by a
moose. This unfortunately, is an ongoing
expectation in Denali, but seldom addressed.
We are rating Riley campground a 3 1/2 because
of the size of the site, it had flush toilets and
shower. The other campgrounds were not as
nice and we would have rated lower.
When we came into Denali and signed up for our
tours and camp site, we had to wait a long time.
I’d mentioned we learned something during that
time, and were about to take advantage of the
long lines.
We had two tour tickets and a couple of days left
at our campsite. At headquarters, we only needed
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to mention it to the folks that were in line before
we had a few takers. We sold our tour tickets in a
flash and after some discussion were able to
transfer our campsite to an incoming family.
They wanted to see the site. That was good and
they liked it, and wanted it.
It didn’t rain last night allowing us to pack a dry
tent and tarp. That was great, as in the morning
the rain was returned.
Denali, we have to say is spectacular and to be
able to experience a part of our world where it’s
mostly been left alone to grow on it’s own. It is,
for us, prehistoric, and our present, but also our
future.
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CHAPTER 7
KENAI PENSULAR: PLANES,AND TRAINS
Arlene asked if I was eager to be headed toward
Anchorage. I’m not, but, during the last several
days, I have been thinking about leaving. I have
wondered if our trip was at an end. My best
thought was to take our trip like an recovering
alcoholic, on a daily basis. A day-by-day affair,
hoping it will stay that way. I’d prefer not to start
racing toward home, the way we raced here to
Alaska.
Denali was our furthest point, west. As we left
we had little remorse. We moved into another
phase of our trip. While still in Alaska with much
of the southern areas to be seen we had reached
our furthest point in the northwest. Believe it or
not we were now headed east. It’s a strange
feeling. Once we turn towards the east our
attitude changed, our interests are different.
There’s always that feeling when we’ve gone as
far as we will go to turn toward home. It would
be wrong to say we wouldn’t see and experience
new things, and adventures, but it would be true
that we no longer felt like frontiersmen, cutting a
new path through the forest, so to speak, with
the same enthusiasm.
As we turn down the highway, neither of us has
gotten the stampede fever. That’s good as we’re
really a long way from home. Maybe we don’t
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feel the fever because Florida isn’t our home, our
minds and souls aren’t really based there. I don’t
really know where mine is based, maybe it’s the
east coast. Arlene for sure is Connecticut. So
we’re not sure, where our feeling are based.
Maybe when we reach Edmonton, Alberta, our
beacon will drive us toward Vermont and the
eastward ho fever will take over.
Our preoccupation is with our finances, and the
stock market isn’t based upon any one location.
We have long since planned it that way, even
before leaving Connecticut. Our bank account
will be replenished regardless of where we are, as
long as the State of Connecticut is solvent. The
stock market will probably continue on it’s path;
slowing reducing our assets, despite our valiant
attempt to make it otherwise.
Last night we listened to a Ranger talk about the
geopolitical plates that are squeezing up against
Alaska. It’s estimated that in the next 50,000
years Los Angeles will be pushing up against
Anchorage. That would put the Dodgers right
beside the Fairbanks’s Giants. There doesn’t
seem to be any way those two teams can get away
from each other.
The major fault runs across Mt McKinley, south
through Anchorage, Valdez, the terminus of the
Oil Pipe line, and the Capital, Juno. It’s defined
by the 1964 earthquake, of 9.2 on the Richter
Scale. A real whopper.
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We have a plan for the Kenai Peninsula. To go
down past Anchorage to the Portage Glacier, for
several nights. From there we’ll double back to
Anchorage, then drive out onto the peninsula, to
Seward and Homer, to watch the tide come and
go at the ‘Turn Again Arm’.
It’s about 30 feet wide which will be good to see.
We’ll stay there for another night and then catch
the train to Whittier, and the ferry to Valdez, the
end of the famous pipe line.
It’s been overcast and raining as we pass Denali
State Park and Talkeetna. We could catch a Bush
Plane from here and go up on to one of Denali’s
glaciers. Probably tromp around for an hour or
so and then return. That would be quite an
experience, except neither of us has the nerve to
get into one of those ski planes. So we’ll just keep
headed toward Anchorage.
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Driving in any of these cities is different than
driving on a superhighway. Anchorage is a lovely
town, with a city center, and 5 story buildings,
and streets decorated with baskets of flowers.
It’s gay and lively.
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On a side street we came upon a group of folks
with their dogs. They were having a
Frisbee/Dog retrieval contest. The mist didn’t
seem to dampen their spirits. They were so
happy and warm that we stopped to watch. The
dog’s would go after the Frisbee as many times as
their master could throw it during the time
period. The dogs were wonderful. Some
wouldn’t let go after they retrieved it. Some lost
focus and didn’t go after it. One caught it in a
splendid leap and then dropped it in front of
another dog. Others go flying past it and slide on
the wet grass. This Australian Sheppard was
excited, but didn’t catch the Frisbee, then
wouldn’t let it go. What a nice greeting we had
with these bright colors, and the happy people.
It’s been a long time since we felt like joining the
crowd.
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We had plenty to do, so we’d better get a place to
stay. Out of town we headed along Cook Inlet.
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Capitan James Cook the 18 century explorer
evidently headed down here and got stuck at low
tide. It’s called Turn-Again-Arm. As you look
out across the ‘Arm’ the darker lines in the
middle of the inlet are the bottom. At low tide
there is hardly any water.
We stopped at Beluga Point, not to see any
whales, but the Mountain Goats on the rocky
hillside. There were four of them, two ewes and
two kids. Each step they took caused rocks to
slide under their feet. Yet they were sure footed.
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A little further down the ‘Arm’ we came to Bird
Creek. There were a lot of fisherman angling for
salmon. It’s a strange sport, as no one catches
the fish, in the usual manner. No they snag
them. Using a stiff rod, and a bright red lore they
drag the water until the fish bites. It’s believed
that the fish aren’t hungry, they are more
annoyed by the color, and bite it.
A young fisherman walked past us with several
fish, and a baby boy in a knapsack on his back.
That was pretty neat, but we don’t really trust
these folks. They are as careless as anyone in
Alaska. It’s a standard procedure for them to cut
up the fish and leave the innards on the creek
bed and keep the fish in their ice chests around
their campsites and in their tents.
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During the next few days when ever we picked
up a newspaper there were stories about the
bears rampaging fishing camps. Fishermen feed
the bears, when they leave their ice chests out,
full of salmon. The bears, as we have been told
are no fools. They tear apart ice chests, knowing
they are filled with food. On one account the
bear entered a tent through it’s side wall, sat on
the camper and emptied the ice chest.
Fortunately; although we only found it
disagreeable, we were never accosted by either
these careless often drunken campers nor the
bears at Bird Creek. We were both very uneasy
around the fishermen. I slept with one eye open
those two nights.
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Bird Creek State Park gets a 0 rating. It earned it.
It was in a forest of tall pines. On one side the
Alaskan railroad and Turn-Again-Arm, on the
other the highway with traffic whizzing by at 65
miles per hour. Two pit toilets were backed up,
and every trash container overflowed.
We spent part of the next morning at Costco. It
was nice to find one in Anchorage. We
developed several rolls of film. We tried
shopping, but every item was to big for us, so we
settled on lunch. A couple of hotdogs and a
‘Hattie Brooks’ frozen Yogurt from their
cafeteria . We did a little window shopping at
their downtown stores. Interestingly the First
Nation Natives, Inuit, could sell things that we,
other citizens can’t. Among them were
Mammoth Tusks and archeological jewelry.
We mentioned our budget. Back in the
beginning of our trip, with few details. It’s not
because we weren’t spending enough, we were,
even a little more. So here are a few tid bits.
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Evidently between leaving home and June 13 we
spent $1,797.11. That was 40 days at about
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$44.93 per day. Not bad. Between June 13 and
the 28th or 16 days we spent $1,226.54 or $76.66
a day. Since hitting this new plateau we’ve been
able to maintain it. For the last 14 days we’ve
spent $77.50 a day.
This morning was a good example of trying to
empty the bank. We had breakfast, $10.50 then at
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Costco we spent $85.00 on film development.
Later we found some really neat gifts $93.92.
Then there was gas, and camp $35.81. Things are
more expensive in Alaska.
It’s still a dreary day, raining off and on, but we’re
doing our best to have a good time. This
afternoon we’re headed for the Anchorage
Airport. Not just any airport, but the home of the
largest fleet of float planes in the world, on Lake
Hood.
Finding the International Airport was easy. But
the small plane area around the lake isn’t. Arlene
was driving and she has some special skills.
Behind us was the lake. She found the planes
and we started touring.
It was amazing, she drove past hundreds of
small single engine planes. Red, Orange, Blue,
Yellow, forest and lime Green, Tan; every
color. They were tethered, to the ground and
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tied along the lake shore, with piles of parts huge
balloon tires, pontoon floats, engines, and wings.
I took video pictures as Arlene drove up and
down the roads. She showed no fear, even
though some signs told her to Keep Out. She
drove on and across the tarmac where any plane
could taxi. She faced down a twin Otter coming
right at us. It chickened out just a few feet from
us, turning off into a hangar.
NO VEHICLES
AIRCRAFT TAXIWAY
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NO TURNS
YIELD TO AIRCRAFT
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This one looks like Jimmy ‘Midnight’ Anderson’s
Piper Cub with canvas covering and balloon tires.
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It was thrilling we’ve never seen anything like it.
Alaska obviously travels by air.
We’ve paid our dues at Bird Creek and now we’re
moving on to Portage Lake and Willawaw
Campground. Willawaw Camp is nice and if the
sun were out it would be beautiful. Its at the
base of Portage Lake, and just off the creek. Its
newly constructed with a picnic table and tent
area on gravel, and a hard surface road. On both
sides of the valley are blue green or turquoise
glaciers with a spruce forest on each side. The
trees are much larger than those at Denali. Two
feet in diameter versus six inches. Like so many
of our campgrounds it would be rated a 4 if only
it had hot water, showers and flush toilets.
Without those conveniences it’s a 2 1/2
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About a mile from us is the Portage Lake
Campground. Where the fishermen stay along
Bear Creek. It’s another sad story. The local
newspaper complains about the horrible
conditions these people create. They call it a zoo,
and blame both the fishermen and visitors.
Again we are not bothered by them
Here’s a poster of some of the possible fish in
the lake.
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Across the lake the glacier has withdrawn like all
of them in North America. Clouds slide down
them into the valley and across the lake. There
are still a number of icebergs in the lake. Some
as high as 40 feet. Unlike the milky lake water,
it’s bluish green.
On the other side, behind us is another glacier.
It’s not a pretty white as it’s carried all the soil
and debris down with it. Vertical crevices cut
along it’s ugly brown surface running all the way
up the valley. This last winter an avalanche of
snow had slid down the valley into the
campground. Avalanches are common here, and
are often started by environmentalist and
National Forest personal.
Standing at our campsite, looking at the glacier I
asked Arlene if she would start an avalanche right
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here. She said; ‘Only for the good of the
mountain side.’ We felt safe where we were until
we looked around. There were many trees near
us, making our camp quite pleasant. But, as we
viewed the top of them many trunks were
broken. We hadn’t noticed how far the
avalanche had come nor how powerful it was.
The entire campground had been covered with
20 feet of snow, rocks, and parts of trees.
We’re driving down the Peninsula to Seward.
The topography has changed since Anchorage.
South of us is the ridge of the Kenai mountains
which we will drive between before reaching
Seward. Along the road in the valleys are vast
areas of swamps and on the hillsides timber
forests. The weather is a combination of cold,
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and rain, much less comfortable than we’ve had
inland.
The road most of the way has been wet and
muddy. We’ll make one stop at the Exit Glacier.
We could see it from the road, but decided to
drive in and hike over to it.
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It was worth it. The temperature at the Visitors
Center was 75 degrees, yet the closer we got to
the glacier the cooler it got. Across from the
runoff, and the braided creeks it dropped below
50 degrees and the cold wind blew down on us.
The Exit Glacier ½ mile wide and 3 miles long is
part of the larger Harding Icefield of 700 miles.
The Kenai Fiords’ National Park was created in
1980 and included the entire Icefield.
For the first time we could see a sheer cliff at the
end of the ice. The color was blue-green because
of the packing snow above it.
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We had warmed up by the time we drove into
Seward. It’s a fishing village and harbor. We
stopped on the edge of town and asked where to
eat. It was lunch time and Ray’s Restaurant was
recommended as the best place in all of Alaska.
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Down on the docks we walked around a bit. It
was low tide and as you might guess it stunk.
Fish tables still had gutted fish on them, and
along the shore were skeletons of large fish, some
four feet long.
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We headed over to Ray’s near the harbor’s main
slips area. It was much better inside.
Arlene ordered the special. It was Salmon on
Linguini noodles, with gorgonzola sauce,
mushrooms, red peppers, and artichoke hearts.
Man did that sound good, only I’m not much on
Salmon and Arlene had as much as she could
handle. We asked if it could be replaced with
Halibut. Of course it could.
This was the best meal in Alaska. Not only that
it was the best meal of our entire trip. Better
than Lafayette Louisiana, Austin Texas, better
than Boulder Colorado, Cody’s Ass-Kicking-
Good Chicken fried steak, better than
Whitehorse, or Fairbanks. This was our favorite
spot on the road.
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It had cleared up in Seward and all along the
peninsula, so when we got back to camp I sat out
on the picnic table and wrote in our journal.
There was a disturbing sign on our site saying
that it was reserved starting tomorrow.
The site was still ours so I went to see the host
and then the maintenance man John. John was a
real character. He said he preferred the toilets to
people, that the current host had hit-the-trail.
Hosts like the sunny campground until it rains
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for a week then it’s cloudy for a week then they
hit-the-trail. None of them last long.
He said the reservation system was all screwed
up. Later, I noticed, he’d posted a sign that the
folks who had reserved our spot should find
another one.
We had planned on going on a short hike to the
base of the camp’s glacier to see the wild flowers.
We did, with a mother and daughter. The
daughter, Kathlene said she was 7 almost 8 and
she was the best tour guide. Thanks to her we
were able to lag behind on the hike. She knew
most of the flowers and told us all about them.
If she didn’t she’d say, ask Mom. We had a swell
hike.
We had to prepare for our train trip from Portage
through the mountains to Whittier. We’d ride on
the Alaskan railroad’s flatbed through a tunnel in
the Kenai Mountains.
We went down to the loading docks. The train
had several flatbed cars, each could hold more
than one truck, RV or car. We’d have to drive up
the ramp and on to the flatbed, along it until in
place. Once in place we’d stay in our vehicle.
There were no club cars. Arlene thought it was
okay, except she didn’t like looking out the van’s
window down into the Marsh. The end of the
Turn-Again-Arm had flattened out into a huge
area of wet grasses.
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ATTENTION MOTORHOME DRIVERS
Warning - Narrow side clearances. access
shuttle cars at your own risk. Alaska Railroad is
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driving onto side rails of shuttle cars.
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It didn’t take long before we were on our way.
This is the first of two tunnels we went through.
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It was fun riding along in the comfort of our van.
Clicky Clack, Clicky Clack. In a half hour we
were in Whittier, just short enough for us to
enjoy it. But we wondered how we’d feel if it
was much longer. I was surprised at the flat
lands we crossed, through both tunnels and out
into Whittier. We followed along the marsh
through two tunnels, and a river into town. All
around us were snowy mountains, and icefields.
It looked like a difficult place to build and
maintain a road.
Whittier was a gloomy looking place. It’s a small
port, and it rains over 100 inches in the summer.
It’s surrounded by the Kenai Mountains, a large
shelf overlooks the town with an Icefield on it.
There is a choice of places to live. One is a really
large apartment building. The other is another
large apartment building. These buildings houses
everyone in the town; everyone.
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We were glad to be on this side of the peninsula,
if only to load onto our ferry to Valdez. Half an
hour later we were headed out to sea toward
Valdez.
This was an interesting trip because there is a
National Park Ranger on board lecturing. We
left Whittier headed out the narrow channel lined
by mountains into Prince William Sound. Along
the way we passed one of the nesting grounds of
Kites. The cliffs were filled with nesting birds.
There were many waterfalls gushing tons of water
from the melting snow. It’s the middle of July so
we wondered what it would be like in the early
spring.
The epi center of the 1964 Alaskan earth quake,
9.2 on the Richter Scale, was along here. The
land shifted upward on one side of the channel
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and downward on the other. The shift was
between 6 and 38 feet at different places. We
could see where dead trees lined the shore line as
they had been killed by the rising salt water sea.
As we approached the Columbian Glacier there
were many small icebergs in the water. Our
Captain sailed into them, slowing down. We
could hear them hitting the hull. Cling, Cling,
Clang as they slid down the ships metal side.
There were many ships along the way. Most
were ‘stink pots’ fishing boats, but a few had
sails. We are partial to the sailboats, but were
surprised that they were all under power because
there was no wind. There were no waves, even
the Sound was calm and flat. For such a large
body of water it was really unusual.
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The seals and otters didn’t mind the weather,
despite us freezing in the icy cold winds as we
motored between the icebergs.
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Boat traffic picked up as we approached Valdez.
There was a large cruise ship, one that makes a
milk run from Seattle and Prince Rupert along
the Alaskan coast to Anchorage. It must be
spectacular with the mountain chains over 12,000
feet filled with icefields and glaciers. We passed
Bly Reef where the oil tanker Exxon Valdez ran
aground. There was no sign of the destruction it
caused.
This was the end of the 800 mile pipeline from
Prudhoe Bay. A couple of oil tankers were being
escorted into the floating docks just outside the
port. Along the mountain side, south of town
near the docks, were 15 large oil storage tanks.
We drove off the ferry into town to the general
store, bought a few supplies and had a bite to eat.
Valdez wasn’t the most interesting town. Like
Whittier it was a working community. All these
shoreline towns were at the bottom of the
mountains. Up the road we went past the Bridal
Falls on to the Richardson Highway toward Tok
and the Alaskan Highway.
We were now back in the Alaskan environment
where our soldiers had engineered the AlCan
through the permafrost. Only this highway was
built later and isn’t as heavily traveled.
The road, was in pretty good shape, with few pot
holes or wash outs. However, it did rise and fall
with the freezing and melting of the permafrost.
That made the road roly poly, or as a sailor might
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