Rural Alaska Living. Ha!

Well, I'm here. My month at the East End of Denali National Park started last Monday night, and my job training for the [second] summer's work at Camp Denali/North Face Lodge started Tuesday morning. The learning curve is steeper some days than others, but I like it--it makes me feel as if I'm contributing again and solves one of my problems with this whole 'retired' thing. The main problem. Chiefly, how do I still feel productive on a more-than-personal scale when I no longer have paid employment? You can only knit so many scarves.

Perhaps it's going to be this way for a while...as long as I pursue this summer-in-Alaska-winter-in-Milwaukee plan. Summers of work, winters of sloth. Maybe I need to quit thinking of it as sloth!

Anyway, here I am, living and sort of house-sitting in the lap of luxury. Art on the walls, carpet on the floor, and down duvet on the bed. Right now the bread is rising, later on I'll start the kettle of soup. Because we're still in late winter here (note the picture--the view to the south of the lake), I've swapped the intrepid but decidedly delicate Miss Scarlett for a company Jeep Cherokee with snow tires and four-wheel drive. Tomorrow I'll venture out on the Park road to sightsee. I'll be careful, though, because the bears are awake, and they're cranky after their winter's hibernation.

The transition from city life and road trip seems to have been effected, and my mind is back into rural life. I have a stockpile of food to last me until I head out to Camp, the distances required to restock have been duly recorded, and I'm hopeful that I'll get to knitting group next Wednesday evening.

As the weeks go by, I'll have more to say, and my posts won't be quite so short. In the meantime...on to the soup!

akhyx8!

I have now driven the Alaska Highway eight (8) times!! Wow! Granted, I left the highway in Tok, short of its finish in Delta Junction, but still, 1,247.7 miles is not to be sneezed at. //Since I'm a couple days behind in the Trip Chronicle, I'll start back in Muncho Lake, British Columbia, on Saturday morning. Waking to a sky vaguely sunny sky, that blank white expanse that means snow is in the area, I consumed a whopping (for me) breakfast of eggs, bacon, potatoes, fresh fruit (a luxury in the far north), and delicious Swiss twist bread. With the gas tank topped off, and sun gleaming off the eastern face of the mountains to my west, Miss Scarlett purred off. Snow shower #1 barely dampened the pavement. Then followed a period of brilliant sun and snow showers #2 and 3. The black objects ahead resolved themselves into three sets of two Wood Bison and two herds of Wood Bison. About 50-60 animals all told. A re-introduced species, these behemoths graze in the wide swath of wild grasses at either side of the road. They are very healthy, if one considers the evidence of their previous...er...passing. //Watson Lake offered a chance to top off the gas tank, to recycle morning coffee, and to get another cup. Things passed uneventfully--in once more brilliant sun--past Fox Creek, Porcupine Creek, Partridge Creek, Smart River, and Swift River. When I crossed Deadman Creek, I stopped pondering the naming! After a brief stop in Teslin--after crossing that awful bridge...more metal decking that not only makes the tires feel flat but bounces at the junction of each of the seven spans--I sailed into Whitehorse. I'd been playing leap-frog with an Alaska-plated SUV since about Watson Lake; they turned off at the Whitehorse City Centre exit, too. This intersection had the first stop light I'd seen since Prince George, B.C., 1,109 miles ago! //And then the day started to go downhill. Saturday night's kind-of-restless sleep under my belt, I started out Sunday morning in more of that blank, white, snow-filled sky. I'd checked at the hotel's front desk; they said snow showers just out of town, and an area of snow near Beaver Creek. I stopped for gas, and the bank card that had been working fine, with an occasional double-swipe being necessary, now required attendant help, but it worked. By the time I reached Haines Junction, the sun shone (again) brilliantly. Still just below freezing, the air was fresh, the puddles crunchy, and not a cloud sullied the sky. That Alaska-plated SUV took to the road at the same time, had sped off, and was last seen pulling back into a gas station, with a wave from the driver, in Haines Junction. Now, apart from a road-services pickup, I was the only car on the road. I did see two mountain sheep at the south end of Lake Kluane, but apart from that, no humans. Hey, Sunday morning in the Yukon Territory is a slow morning. // The sign warned that the road from Burwash Landing to the border was bad. Well, I knew that. Subsidence, cracks, humps, dips. About all you can muster for speed for this 105-mile stretch is 45 mph. I finished my apple about the time two hands were required to grip the wheel, and about the time greyish cloud ahead descended to ground level. Snow started. Since I was well past the last warm place in which to shelter, and since the plows had cleared the road, I continued. Then the road maintenance responsibility section changed from Destruction Bay to Beaver Creek, and the shoulders narrowed. Previously salted and sanded, the road was now snow-covered. Soon 2-3 inches deep. Still coming down heavily. Eeee. A plow passed me from the north, but there was no evidence of its having plowed anything. //At this point I don't know which took over: sheer determination or sheer stupidity! Honestly, to stop would have been a really dangerous idea, so I figured that I'd keep moving (at 35-40 mph) as long as I could. A van was about a mile in front of me, two semi's and a U-Haul truck passed going south, so I talked myself through the storm saying, "If a U-Haul truck can do it, so can I." After about 80 miles of gripping the wheel and talking to myself, the snowfall lessened, the tracks of the van in front became more visible, and by the time I reached Beaver Creek (about 15 miles shy of the border), the sun was back out, the pavement merely wet, and the "traffic" even less. And I figured out why the woman in the Alaska-plated SUV waved to me back in Haines Junction. Not greeting, but warning. //Continuing the downhill motion (the one bright spot being the cheerful customs guy who practically waved me back into the U.S.), the stop in Tok for check-in at the motel revealed that my bank card froze the computer system at the motel. Now, I've stayed there before, and it doesn't take much to freeze their system, but still. The guy was really snotty about it, so since it was only 2:00, I cancelled the reservation, called Gail in Anchorage (only 5.5 hours away) and said, "I'm coming in." //The Tok Cutoff is interminable. It seams through the Mentasta Mountains, a sub-range of the Alaska Range, then seams through the Alaska Range, then jounces across a whole bunch of not much (but beautiful) for 139 miles. You find yourself looking for those mile markers, hoping that single digits will appear on them. I crept through Glenallen at the posted speeds, and then cruised along a little (OK, a lot) faster when the road opened up again. At least until the Glenallen Highway Patrol pulled me over. I'd forgotten about the policing near Glenallen. When he asked if I had a reason for going so fast, I had to agree with him that yes, I had a reason, but no, it wasn't a good one. It was my first speeding ticket in 52 years of driving. And it cost about what the motel stay, supper, and breakfast would have, so it was kind of a wash. And a good reminder about concentrating on driving instead of thinking about...well, whatever it was I was thinking about. //And I still made it to Anchorage at 7:30 p.m. An 11-hour stretch of driving, which is still amazingly good time. //So, the road trip is done. I'm in Alaska, sorting out the laundry, taking a day to get my head out of the car. I'll mail the postcards, mail in the check for the ticket, and get on with the week. I may even take a nap!

British Columbia, bottom to top

The road trip wears thin. No, I'm not tired of the wonderful things I'm seeing, but I am glad there are only two and a half more days of driving. I'm reminded of an Anna Russell line: "Too much of anything, even if it is nice, it is too much." //That being said, yesterday's drive from Williams Lake to Fort St. John provided vistas of empty country that filled my soul! After scraping the frost off the windshield and rear window, I started out. Just beyond Quesnel (kwez-NEL, I'm told), the car started making a painful noise. A medium-pitched howl. I panicked. I slowed and pulled over, it stopped. Back at speed it resumed. I panicked some more. Then I swore off all road trips for now and forever amen...and then I realized that the pavement I traversed was making the noise. After I stopped feeling stupid, I stopped for a light breakfast in Prince George. //Continuing north and east, I crossed the Rockies and arrived at Chetwynd, where I changed my US$ to Canadian, got a refrigerator magnet (Chetwynd, B.C., is the chain saw sculpture capitol of the world) and topped out onto the Peace River plateau. The view is always calming for me--although crossing the Peace River on a v.e.r.y. long metal-decked bridge is not. It's a long way across at 45 mph, and the metal decking causes the car to handle as if all four of its tires are flat. //When I arrived in Fort St. John, I checked in to the EconoLodge. Apparently when you claim an AARP rate, they give you a room with shiny metal rails in the bathtub, a special chair to sit on in the shower, and a bathroom door wide enough to get your wheelchair through. AND a nice high toilet! Anyway, after I quit laughing, I went and had the car's oil changed, drove through the car wash, and got some supper. //This morning started late. The alarm had gone off at 5:30, I turned it off and then turned over. About 7:15 I woke up for real, and was on the road by 8:15. The weather started out very windy and overcast, with the sky looking ominous. Sort of that blank whitish grey overcast that means snow. I stopped at Pink Mountain (which was still snowy white) for coffee, and the fellow outside noticed Miss Scarlett's Wisconsin plates, chatted a bit, and gave me advice: "Watch out for moose, and fuel up every chance you get after Fort Nelson." By the time I got to Fort Nelson, the sun was shining brilliantly, it was warm enough to open the rear car windows about two inches, and the number of vehicles on the road dropped to one or two each hour. //The Alaska Highway seams through the northern Rockies following rivers. The mountains are spectacular--not jagged and craggy the way they look near Jasper and Banff, but monolithic and solid. Some show sedimentary stripes, others rounded tops of granite. I love this particular stretch of road: the little "mogul runs" of original road along cliffs and rivers, the broad and recent sweeps that rise and fall over mountain shoulders. I've never seen it snow-covered, and it's like seeing an entirely new landscape, even though this is my eighth time along the road. //The only wildlife I saw today, apart from the roadside signs warning me to be on the lookout, was [were?] five deer, several ravens, and two very dead and very picked over moose at the side of the road. //In the morning I'll set out for Whitehorse, about an eight-hour drive from here. There is blue sky showing now; hope it signals good driving for tomorrow.

Oh, Canada

To complete the backstory I rushed over yesterday, I arrived in Seattle safely, and had a most wonderful evening with Ashley, KC, and Lindsay. We talked, laughed, did errands--including picking rosemary from someone's way-overgrown rosemary bush somewhere--enjoyed a delicious meal of roast chicken, onion mashed potatoes, steamed broccoli, and salad. And, we went out for ice cream at about 10:00! It's embarrassing to say this, but I haven't been out that late in decades. Totally worth it. //This morning I got up just before 7:00, had coffee and said my goodbyes to the three very special young women, and was on the road by 7:30. By 8:00 I was in another Seattle backup from a previous accident, but this time a 'snainfall' piled on to the experience. By Bellingham, sun shone on blooming forsythia, flowering crab trees, yellow and white jonquils. There is a back road that cuts over to a border crossing in Sumas, and practically before my passport was back in my bag, I was in Abbotsford, getting more coffee and crunching kilometers to miles. //Back in 1997, I drove the Fraser River and Thompson River canyons twice--a round trip to Vancouver from Cache Creek. I'd either forgotten or blocked much of the experience. For someone who gets the screaming mimi's around heights, this is--trust me--a stretch of white-knuckle driving. The road is benign until the turn at Hope. Canadian Route 1 continues, but not much hope for a relaxing drive sticks around! The Fraser River canyon is sheer bulky rock with trees and vegetation, tunnels and twisty turns. W-a-a-a-a-y down there at the bottom of the canyon is the river. I didn't spend much time looking for it. At one point, Spuzzum, I think, the road crosses the canyon. I didn't look down there, either. By this time it was raining with snowflakes mixed in. //At Lytton, the road grinds around the shoulder of a great big mountain, and the river at the bottom is now the Thompson River. This canyon, wider than the other and bracketed on either side with rail lines, is walled with crumbly sedimentary rock the color of old scrambled eggs. Lots of around the corners up and down stop for construction blah blah blah. Then the road, at Spence's Bridge, crosses that river (just watch the pavement....), and the sun blessed much of that bit of driving. //The sun gave out and the wind and snow showers picked up just north of Cache Creek. This particular section of B.C. 97 is called the Caribou Connector. A several-year project is afoot to improve the road connecting Prince George--slap in the middle of the province--to Vancouver. While there are communities fairly frequently clustered along the road, for the most part, the road traverses vast untamed spaces. I still love looking at the different trees; I enjoy noticing how far behind Spring is here at 57 degrees N. Lat. The elevation is only 1,942 feet, but one of the summits I traversed today clocked in at 3,873 feet--if my calculation of meters-to-feet is correct. //One place where traffic stopped for single lane passage, workmen were hanging enormous lengths of chain-link fencing from the cliffs to keep the falling rock from pelting passing vehicles. I drove through rain, snow showers, mud spray, sun, more rain, etc., stopping in Mile 93 House--that's the name of the community--for gas, where the price is advertised in litres. //The sun came out for good as I approached Williams Lake, my destination for the day. I think I've done the last bit of dramatic driving for a while--at least until the descent along Long Lake east of Anchorage, but at least I'll be on the cliff side and not on the drop-off side. //So, I'm in for the night. It's a treat to know that the car is still purring along, even if she does look quite hideous from all the road spray. //I think Fort Saint John has a car wash.

Evening in Seattle

The journey has taken me through two wonderful family visits in California--Bill and Norma in Carmel, and Uncle Larry in Santa Rosa--and a delicious and quick lunch in Sausalito with my last summer's roommate. Great talks, comfortable time together, and I'm so very glad I swung south to include the Bay Area on my route. //Yesterday I left Santa Rosa about 8:30 in the morning, but I ran out of steam in Medford, Oregon, checked into a Day's Inn and read, napped, had a light supper and a wonderful night's sleep. This morning I started out at 7:00 and discovered just how gorgeous Oregon is. Mountainous in the southwest, flat and lush through the Willamette Valley...just gorgeous! //Washington state is not so pristine as Oregon, and--as you might expect--traffic ground to a crawl when I got to Seattle. Since my notes are all in the car, and since I'm not prepared to go out and get them, I'll close for now and include those details tomorrow!

From Pigeon Cove to Monterey Bay

//We, Miss Scarlett and I, have reached the Pacific. In February I stood at the edge of the Atlantic Ocean in Pigeon Cove, Massachusetts; today I came around the curve at Seaside, California, and there was the bay. The last time I'd motored across the United States, I was nine years old. I'm glad to have done it again--it's an incredible land. // Yesterday we crossed the Sierra Nevada, which is spectacular, still very deep in snow, and rough road (chains on the truck tires during bad weather chew up the pavement). //But back to Battle Mountain. Western Nevada has a stark loveliness to it that I wasn't really prepared for, and it makes me go back and look at all that dusty tan rock from the day before through a different lens. Yes, the trek across the state is long, but everywhere you look you're either in mountains or down on the flat looking at mountains. As I've always looked to the mountains as my center, the vistas were calming and helped me focus on the beauty of all that rose, or fell, around me. Oh, what a beautiful morning! //In Sparks I stopped for gas ($3.80 per gallon) and practically inhaled the warm air and the sight of blooming trees! The Truckee River runs through town watering the flowering crab, early pear trees, and lovely purple shrubs. Ah, April, and not a fool in sight (present company excepted). //The fairly fast climb up to Donner Summit and the long descent to Sacramento had me focusing more on road and traffic; the clot of traffic through Sacramento slowed, sped, slowed, sped--as you'd expect for a Friday noontime. Taking I-5 south, I drove past Stockton, noting that the valley's agriculture thrives. The hills showed emerald green, and recent heavy rains topped off all the reservoirs. Cutting west to Gilroy, I seamed through those brilliant hills, even recognizing patches of bright orange California poppies. //Then came the familiar home stretch through Prunedale and Seaside with glimpses of the ocean off to my right between the dunes. Highway 1 is closed to the south of Carmel; about a lane and a half of the two lane road slid off into the sea in the last day or so, and the northbound traffic moved heavily and slowly. But with the windows open to the breezes, I drove up the hill to my cousin's house, and after a delicious dinner in Pacific Grove, the bed beckoned. //Today (Saturday) will be spent here in Carmel, then tomorrow it's off north to Santa Rosa with a stop in Sausalito for lunch with last summer's Camp Denali roommate. What a wonderful celebration of place and person this trip is!