Saturday, December 18, 2010

Blizzard in Kotzebue

The new snow drift is more than three feet high.
Snow blown on winds at more than 30 miles per hour created a nearly white out condition this evening. At seven degrees, we are expecting another three inches of snow within the next 24 hours. Nearly four inches have already fallen. See more photos taken tonight:

Youth playing in snow drifts outside our apartment.
Snapping this photo before going back inside our apartment.
Flash glares against the snow flakes.

Friday, December 17, 2010

Snow Flurries in Kotzebue

Snow flurries and winds of 30 miles per hour dominate the air space outside the windows in our living room. Home for lunch, I look out over the lagoon and can barely see the runway lights even though visibility is about seven miles according to Accuweather.com. Winds off the tundra are sending snow drifts every which way.

Many Alaska Airline flights have been canceled this week making for travelers stuck either in Kotzebue, Nome or Anchorage. Village flights have also been canceled. I check the flight status for Flight 152 as Rick is scheduled to come in two hours after spending most of the week in Anchorage attending meetings. Alaska Airlines has this cool graphic that shows where the plane is and how close it is to Kotzebue.

Temperatures have warmed up considerably. Yesterday it was minus 8 degrees fahrenheit with a windchill tapping out around minus 35. As I sit on our leather loveseat looking out the living room windows, temperatures are nearly 10 degrees above zero.

The intensity of the blowing makes the van door difficult to open the door to the van when I came home for lunch. Pinching the hood of my down jacket around my face, my Columbia boots automatically shuffle over the parking lot to the open-grid stairs. The shuffle provide sure footing over compacted ice n its bumpy surface.

After putting away the organic produce from the Full Circle Farms box, I reach for a tapioca pudding cup leftover from when I had the stomach flu last week and pull a silver spoon from the drawer. Turning the tv onto HGTV, I pick up my laptop to check emails and stare out the wondow. Huge ravens soar bravely through the air. Daredevils all of them. With the tv on mute, I watch designers decorate homes for Christmas and wonder whether Rick's plane will land.

Due to the shortage of flights coming in, lines at the post office are sporadically out the door. Prior to driving home, I stop by the post office where lines are snaking around the Opening my box, I'm relieved to see there are no yellow cards again today. Seeing friends waiting in line, I stop to visit about Christmas plans next week. Cargo planes have been landed across the lagoon at weird times in an attempt to deliver packages when possible. The collection of packages arriving and departing are dominated by Priority Mail boxes and stickers this time of year.

I check the flight status again before heading back to work as the wind continues to blow the light-weight flakes.  Looks very probable that the plane will deliver my husband as it is on the ground in Nome.

Note: Rick called at 3:00 pm confirming that he had made it in. Relief washed over me and once again I praised our talented bush pilots.

Sunday, December 12, 2010

A Sunday During Holiday Season in Kotzebue

The light has finally arrived today. The wind is blowing snow off the large pile on the lagoon's shore. Huge ravens balance on wind currents, obviously enjoying the cruise. Inside the dishwasher is running and steam erupts from the camp gear kettle. Pouring hot water over lose-leaf, green tea, I steep in the warmth of another cold day in the Far North.

It's quiet outside on this Sunday morning. Residents are either in church or beginning to wake from a long night's sleep. A plane departs the runway across the lagoon on a scheduled flight to one of the other villages. Snow flurries are expected today but as of yet I haven't seen any. Life is taking hold of this subzero day.

During most of the day, Christmas lights can be seen in patterns affixed to power poles, hanging over Third Avenue and on the exteriors of homes. Apartment windows are strung with flashing LED lights and an artificial Christmas tree draws a sharp contrast to the white snow of an occasional front yard. Big red bows and tree boughs, purchased from Alaska Commercial, decorate the front door of an apartment down the way from us. 

This weekend Kotzebue has been filled with holiday shoppers from neighboring villages. The tables were occupied by families waiting for Asian food or burgers at Empress Restaurant when we ate there yesterday. The bustle of Christmas shoppers at A-C was evident as we drove past on Main Street. Cars, four-wheelers and snow machines were parked outside Rotman's while inside lookers and buyers had flooded the store.

Another holiday bazaar took place yesterday at the Senior Center. The month of December is filled with them. Jeannette and I attended two last weekend, purchased handcrafted Eskimo gifts and munched out on enchiladas for lunch at the Catholic Church before heading to the Lions Club for a second holiday bazaar. Various churches sponsor them as well as the girls basketball team and others.

Daily lines out the lobby door are common at Kotzebue's small post office. Turning the key in the lock of our post office box, I have mixed feelings about what the small space may contain each day. While a yellow card indicates a gift or a much-anticipated mail order item, it will surely result in a wait in line for up to an hour before receiving it from a tired and over-worked postal employee at the single open window.

Friday there were two yellow cards in our box: one was a Christmas gift from Rick's parents and the other was a 40-pound box that contained a new flat screen t.v. for Rick. Definitely worth the wait.

Beginning tomorrow many residents will board flights to Anchorage on Alaska Airlines to finish their holiday shopping. The streets of the state's largest city will be filled with out-of-towners looking for unique gifts unavailable in the rural areas. As people from the smaller villages migrate to the larger villages of Kotzebue, Nome, and Barrow, residents of these larger villages will travel to Anchorage or Fairbanks.

With the sound of the dryer in the background, I count the days before our trip Outside. Just nine more days before we fly to the Bay Area to visit my family. Making the last arrangements for lodging and transportation to the Santa Rosa and Lake county areas, the excitement of travel courses through my veins. My heart sighs as the reality of seeing my dad, Tony, siblings, and others sinks in deeper. I look up from my laptop in time to watch the tail of a cargo plane as it turned towards the terminal on a snow-plowed runway. The light remains for another few hours. Hopefully we will make it out to the tundra to see the sunset at 2:49 pm.

Sunday, December 5, 2010

Life in Below Zero Temperature

This morning Rick and I took a drive in the tundra to catch the sunrise. This is an easy fete. Here in Kotzebue, sunrise began shortly before noon. In honor of Kevin's birthday, Rick promised to take photos of the sunrise and sunset.

With a view of White Alice in the background, I clicked off a few photos of the fushia-colored sunrise. While standing in -4 degrees, the cell phone in my jeans pocket began to ring. Raising my down parka to reach for the phone, I felt the morning chill sink into my skin. I pressed the talk button with my bare hand. Ski gloves tucked under my arm, I confirmed the time of the cookie exchange later today. After a short conversation, I hung up the line and returned the blue gloves to my reddening fingers.

 Next we headed down onto the narrow beach. Looking out at the ocean, the ice covered the wide expanse. Cape Blossom stood frozen to the south. Someday this stretch of land could play host to a deep water port. As we neared the South Beach party pad bunker, we turned the rig around in a wide space in the road. After driving north, the tire tracks began to lessen. Soon they were gone. Taking our cue from others who knew the land, we retraced our tracks while driving in reverse. Finally a wide space to turn around.

When we made it back to the main road, the pink light illuminated two clouds in the distance.  After another copy of shots, we headed back into town. Soon the sun would rise above the frozen lagoon where we could see it from our living room window. The orange globe would show itself for a few hours and then sink below the horizon again. Happy Birthday, Dear Brother.

Sunday, November 28, 2010

Parkie for Christmas

As the mercury in the thermometer became less and less visible, many women began to wear their parkies around Kotzebue. After seeing one that my neighbor had been given, I knew a parkie was the thing to have when facing the subzero temperatures. Working with Easter brought back memories of my mother and grandmother.

After arranging a meeting, Rick drove us to Easter's home on a recent Saturday afternoon. On the porch, several shee fish lay at her doorstep. Upon entering, we were greeted by three generations of family, the youngest only a toddler. Easter was seated at the kitchen table pulling white feathers from small birds. "I had told someone that I hadn't had ptarmigan for a long time and someone left them at my door," she explained as the feathers fell into the kitchen garbage can and the red blood covered her nimble fingers.

We spent about an hour in Easter's small home. Trying on parkies from different fabrics, we had a good laugh when I zipped up a large one and pulled the fabric away from my stomach. "This is too big," I said with a laugh. Easter had lain awake the previous night wondering how big I was and how tall. "The sleeves need to be longer," I said as I pulled the calico fabric down towards the back of my left hand.

Rick sat patiently in the living room with Easter's husband and a couple of her daughters while we rummaged through trim and fabric in the hallway sewing closet. We dug through various colors of trim and fabric searching for her measuring tape. When I found it, she said, "You help me find things. You can come by when I am not making you a parkie."

Rotman's store after the first snowfall that stuck.
We decided a brown fabric with maroon medallions accented with a buttercup swoosh would be the best although the purple with metallic thread was difficult to pass up. Easter explained that a heavy lining would be difficult to find but she would look at Rotman's while I searched online for a 10 ounce quilted fabric lining. In the end, she scored on an 11 ounce version that gave the parkie a pillow feel when folded up. The trim would be maroon with navy blue and gold accents and the ruff in wolverine with paws, as well as for the skirt hem. The cost of wolverine skins has reached $495 at Rotman's, Easter said. Beaver is traditionally used for the cuffs.

Easter's talent for sewing was renowned, especially with parkie's and mukluks. She had promised eight pairs of mukluks and had at least three other parkies in various stages of completion. The additional income from sewing helps to support Easter and her husband. She praised social security as her steady source of income, having put into the system while working 19 years at Maniilaq's hospital and several years working at Rotman's many years ago.

When we had finished the selection process, Easter returned to her work at the kitchen table. So much work to do, she commented. She spoke of her life in Kotzebue and leaving her parents in Point Hope back in the 1930s after she married. When we departed, my heart was filled with love for her.

Four days later, Easter left a message on our answering machine saying, "Where are you? I try to find you but you are not there. Your parkie is done and you can come pick it up."She had worked on it for three days, staying up until 4am on some nights.

Seeing the finished parkie laying on the couch, I squealed. Easter pointed out that the ruff had the paws. I admired the parkie's stitching and the dark colored fur cuffs. After struggling with the zipper she helped. Reaching into my purse, I pulled out the payment check and folded it in half. Handing it to her, she thanked me. We talked about sewing a short parkie for Rick after Christmas sometime. The price was less than a third the cost of a longer parkie.

Departing, I thanked her for her beautiful work. Soon Rick would also marvel at the care and love Easter put into this beautiful parkie.  Working with her on this project was like returning to my girlhood visiting my grandmother and working on sewing projects with Mom.

Sunday, November 21, 2010

Losing Daylight in the Far North

Riding around in the Kobuk Cab on a Sunday night while the wind blew freezing rain gave me an appreciation for the ever changing climate of this place. Calls filtered in on the radio, "803," "Teacher Housing," "1000 A-2" and more as the cab filled and emptied. I wondered when it would be my turn to be let off this merry go round of travel through meandering streets. Numbered places whirling about while the passenger in the front seat wrote them down. And then another cab driver jumped into the fray, "I'm here. Where should I go? What do you need?" The list of house numbers recounted over the radio.

Extreme weather and darkness is a way of life here in the Far North. As the cab pulls up to our apartment, I take off my insulated gloves to pull the twenty out of my down coat. As the door opens, I look at our fellow passengers in thin fleece jackets and hats. Hoping my blood would thicken soon, I draw down the zipper of my earth-colored coat and feel the warmth of the bodies next to mine in the four-door Subaru.

Stepping out of the economy car, I thank the cab driver, and then he's off to Bayside Restaurant to drop off another passenger. An icy path dimly illuminated by building lights, I successfully navigated the way by doing the Alaska shuffle. Strong gusts of wind impede my progress to the 10 steel steps in front of me.

Once on the porch, I look out from under the eave to watch the icy rain blowing like crazy in the amber-colored light. Unsecured metal objects threaten to give way in the whirling wind. While it was only 7 pm., the sun had set a little more than three hours ago. With less than five hours between the sun mustering an appearance and it touching the horizon again, the darkness captures more and more of each day.

The morning will bring more darkness. Each day the light of the sun hangs lower in the sky and the temperatures normally would continue to drop. But somehow this week, the weather has warmed to a little above freezing. We appreciate the break from the cold. The freakish chinook winds bring warmer temperatures and an abundance of rain, sometimes mixed with snow and then hail. The ice on Swan Lake and the lagoon behind our apartment thins and disappears.

Rick and I walked to the fire hall this afternoon to check in on the team of experts who had come to survey its operations. Shuffling over the icy spots, Rick holds my hand and navigates towards the slushy areas for better traction. Feeling the strong blowing at our back, Rick comments about the strong wind that will hit us on our return trip. My camera bumps on my hip as I wear the strap like a sash. Buttoning up my down coat up higher on the neck, the hood pulls away from my hat-covered head. Instead of returning on foot, we coordinate some transportation so that we can stop by the club to check the timing of the birthday party event that I will oversee in the late afternoon.

We pick up Rick's rig and head back to the fire hall to drop off the other vehicle, thankful that we did not have to walk the distance and back. Transportation has high value in the village, especially during the winter months. Roads are plowed by public works employees working rotating shifts. An occasional truck is buried into a bank of snow having slipped off the road. No one is hurt. Traffic moves cautiously through the paved and unpaved streets.

Outside the wind continues to blow rain about. Temperatures hoover around 35 degrees. Shedding layers of warmth, I close the door upon entering our apartment tonight. Fur-lined boots are cast aside for slippers. Wet down is hung on the bathroom door to dry. The moisture will be sucked out dry from the entryway floor, dry the coat and boots. It's good to be home.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Veterans Day in Kotzebue

Presentation of the colors.
Many arrived this morning for the Veterans Day Celebration at the Northwest Arctic Heritage Center where a statue commemorating those who served honoring in the Alaska Territorial Guard during World War II. Heartfelt remarks were made regarding those native Alaskans who answered the first call of duty back in the early 1940s. Tears fell for those who died and for those who fought to maintain our freedom.

A celebration for veterans began in Kotzebue during the early 1980s when a handful of locals first began to assemble at the Senior Citizens Cultural Center to share their stories. The ATG servicemen were much younger then, one of the presenters recounted. Each year they talked of their participation in the second world war. ATG servicemen protected Alaska's shores from a possible Japanese attack. Some fought when the Japanese invaded our country on the Aleutian Islands. Others kept the supply line safe while aircraft was transported to Russia to fight the Germans on the Eastern Front.

Highest Ranking Native Alaskan in U.S. military.
The commemoration of veterans has grown over the years and culminated into the most involved celebration yet. Activities included a greeting and remarks by Brigadier General Julio Banez whose father had served in the military while living in Alaska. Among those participating in the ceremony included members of the brigadier general's staff, a color guard and Sergeant Major Wilfred Lane, the highest ranking native Alaskan serving in the U.S. military.

Present were a few ATG veterans that the Northwest Arctic borough had flown in from nearby villages. The president of the Borough Assembly Walter Sampson spoke of the effects of being a soldier had been on his life. His gratitude, and that of his comrades, were expressed in his slow and heartfelt words. He encouraged us to thank veterans for their service. He said that soldiers carry a guilt for those who did not make it home.

Added to the ceremony was the presentation of a medal to the family of the late ATG serviceman James Oyagachiaq Norton Sr. Before his recent passing at age 97, he was the eldest elder in the region. One of his daughters works for the city and his son-in-law is the mayor of Kotzebue.
Nikaitchuat Singers from the Kotzebue IRA immersion school

As part of the festivities, the Nikaitchuat Singers performed the pledge of allegiance and sang My Country Tis of Thee in Inupiak. Dressed in traditional clothing, these young children attend the immersion school in town. The Northern Lights Dancers performed an Inupiak welcome dance. Dignitaries, who represent our region on the state and federal level, were also in attendance. State representative Reggie Joule offered words of praise for those served and encouraged the audience to do the same.


State representative Reggie Joule.
The patriotism shared was deep and heartfelt. May this celebration serve as a reminder to all of us to be grateful to veterans who fought to maintain our freedom and for those all over the world who are continuing to do so on our behalf. May we give praise and honor to those who served or continue to serve our country in this way.

Sunday, November 7, 2010

Settling into the Arctic Cold

Friday sunset over the lagoon.
The sun sets much earlier in Kotzebue than before we left on our Alaska Highway journey. As of today, there will be a little more than seven hours between the sun's rise and set. Driving to work in the darkness is not different than many places. However, here in the Far North, the sun does not show itself until nearly noon. The transition from fall to winter has occurred in this town above the Arctic Circle.

Sitting in our cozy apartment, we are buffered from the extreme cold. Tonight AccuWeather.com is forecasting a light dusting of snow and temperatures as low as seven degrees. But one would not know that without seeking those predictions. The overcast sky is no indication of the impending arrival of snowflakes. The weather just is, no rejection, no denial.

Upon return to this far away city, I was amazed by the beauty of sparkling snow everywhere. My footfalls weighed heavily on these light flakes. Roadside drifts of whiteness were something new to me, a rookie to arctic survivalism.

The quiet of fall has been replaced with loud engines of snow gos. For weeks these toys were sitting idle. Somehow cars have been replaced by these fast vehicles. Riders in large-hooded parkies, have replaced the young and adventurous perched on four wheelers.

The barrier between skin and the air has increased immeasurably. I surfed the Internet last night for the remaining articles of clothing sure to protect my epidermis: ski pants, wool longjohns, snow boots with better traction, ski mask, and the perfect ski hat. In my free time, perhaps I will crochet wool scarves for us. Women dressed in beautiful parkies with deep hoods brimmed with wolverine, wolf, or arctic fox are everywhere. Their extreme warmth has stood the test of time.

Decisions about where to plug in the van and other auto protection systems have come into play. When I peaked outside yesterday morning, the motor was running in Rick's rig. With the newly repaired remote start, he had fired up the engine from a window of the apartment. Maintaining a warm engine temperature has become important.

Each morning I peer out the front door to scan the parking lot for newly-fallen snow on the roofs of neighborhood vehicles. Bundling up for the cold, I step outside for the short walk to start up the van's  engine. Stomping feet on the welcome mat, I shake off traces of white from my boots before entering the apartment. A pair of navy slippers await the transfer of warm feet dressed in wool socks. Snow boots, fleece hat, down coat, a fushia-colored and warm gloves are quickly removed. Several times a day these ritualized movements will occur.

Cars parked outside the post office idle as we wait in line to pick up our parcels, some arriving in boxes labeled with Cabela's, Eddie Bauer and others. Sixth Avenue Outfitters sells subzero Arctic wear with Canada goose down, the best insulating material available. This Anchorage-based clothier mails their sought-after catalogs in August. It remains on our wooden coffee table, receiving occasional reviews during tv commercials. The upstairs at the local AC store is filled with artic wear produced by Columbia, Sorel and others.

Shore Avenue near Rothman's Store.
Driving over to Shore Avenue for a lunch or dinner, I feel the Arctic cold hit my face as we step out of the vehicle. A winter paradise spreads out on all sides and on clear days, we can see the nearby mountains now heavily laden with snow.

Stepping into Bayside Restaurant or the Empress, the dry heat of the room causes us to ease off our winter gear. Our bodies yearn for foods that warm from the inside. Steaming soups, spicy curries, spaghetti with chili flakes, red meats in different forms can all be consumed at expensive Kotzebue prices. Sweat beads surface on the bridge of our noses as our bodies heat up from the spice.

Winter sports are in full swing. Ice fishing, cross country skiing, capturing seals when they come up for air, sledding, and dog mushing activities are springing into action during these days of lessening light.  An endless number of football games, NASCAR races, and soon basketball are available for viewing on the increased number of flat-screened tvs purchased with pfd checks or money saved by eating dinners at home. Soon snow machines will make tracks on the iced-over Sound but caution for patchy areas of thin ice will have to be paid. Streets, Swan Lake, and the lagoons are speedways for this winter mode of transportation and fun.

Soon the holidays will be here with all of its innate hustle and bustle. But for now, we will enjoy this settling process, enjoy the beauty of this Arctic land and enjoy the slower pace inherent in the lessening of light.

Monday, November 1, 2010

End of the Journey to Anchorage

Mountains along Turnagain Arm.
Today was the day we ended our journey to Anchorage. On the road for nine days, it was good to see the Turnagain Arm and the 'Welcome to Anchorage' sign. The activities of each day have already begun to blur. The blog posts and tons of photos serve as a reminder to all of us. But before we say good bye to this road trip, following are the highlights of today:

Sleep came in restless spurts after consuming a rich meal at Jack Spratt's last night. After contemplating whether to sleep or get up, puttering around our luxurious room at the Alyeska Resort won out. Peering out between the dark drapes, the valley trees and nearby mountains were piled with snow. The first snow fall that stuck, the resort is optimistic about opening the ski season on Thanksgiving Day this year.

View from our room at the Alyeska Resort.
To melt away the aches of travel and a couple months of winter climate, Rick and I had appointments for treatments at the hotel spa. Entering the glass door, we entered the soothing atmosphere of the spa. Vapors of cypress wafted through the air. Young Heidi greeted us at the counter in a soothing voice. After giving us a short questionnaire to complete, we followed to some comfortable chairs where she offered beverages.

Heidi directed me to the changing room where a black wardrobe bag with a brass lock, a soft robe, and plastic slippers were stationed. Rick had been taken to a room by Heidi for his pedicure when I opened the door. Sarah greeted me and the now familiar smell of cypress surrounded her. Sarah had been doing stone therapy for nearly eight years, roughly the same amount of time she had been doing massage.

Periodic laughter erupted from outside the closed door to our room. Rick's voice settled my heart. He had been apprehensive about having a pedicure but his feet had suffered from the dry climate and freezing temperatures of Kotzebue.

When Sarah finished her magic,  I changed back into my sweats and headed back to our room where Rick was ready to check out. After taking our things down to the car, we settled up at the front desk. Turning our backs on the great hunter statue, we exited the lobby and settled into the Camry for the short ride to the Five Chairs Cafe in the Girdwood's new townsite. During the ski season, Five Chairs is a hopping place. Young, hip skiers and boarders enjoyed the great food and brews available at this dining establishment.

After lunch, we began the final 36 miles of our journey to Anchorage. With the tide rushing in, the Turnagain Arm was on our left. Steep mountains, with horned sheep at the high elevations, took up the right side of this stretch of the Seward Highway. Rick and I talked about returning to Kotzebue and the worked we enjoyed there.

We pulled up at the Dimond Center Hotel for our two-night stay. Pastel colors in the lobby, this hotel was esthetically pleasing. The hotel is owned by the Soldovia Tribe's native corporation.  Our room was painted in a dark teal color with light wooded furniture. A layout similar to the Cannery Pier Hotel in Astoria, the large bathroom contained a deep soaking tub.

After more than 3,000 miles, the Camry was due for a bath and an oil change. While waiting for the oil change, I engaged in an activity typical of someone out from the bush -- I shopped! Where to go first? Very exciting! After navigating the car wash, the shiny Camry felt like a new car as I zoomed back to the hotel to pick up Rick for dinner.

We went to the Moose's Tooth Restaurant for dinner. A local hangout, this brewpub is famous for its pizza. Enjoying some long-sought over pizza, we had our fill and headed back to the hotel where I am now completing the final post for this trip. With Star Wars: The Phantom Menace playing on tv and sitting in a comfortable chair, we ended our journey. Wednesday morning I will return to Kotzebue. Rick will follow on flight 153 that night.

Even though we took a more relaxed approach to Anchorage in our final days, we still arrived within our scheduled date. While weather in late October can be quite unpredictable, we encountered very little weather-related hurdles to climb. The gorgeous country one would never see without traveling the Alaska Highway was enjoyed by us and those who read of our journey.

Though this journey is complete, the one of our lives in Kotzebue is still unfolding. This medium will be used for periodic postings of our life in a place thirty-three miles above the Arctic Circle. We return to this place with new experiences waiting to be shared. Until then, good bye dear family and friends.

Sunday, October 31, 2010

Valdez to the Alyeska Resort in Girdwood, AK

The room was dark when I awoke at the Best Western Valdez Harbor Inn. Not having completed the blog post for yesterday, I felt an urgency to finish writing it. Today we would take the scenic route across the Prince William Sound and head to Girdwood for a night of luxury at the Alyeska Resort. For the trip over on the fast ferry, our travel companions from yesterday would help us while away the three-hour ride.  The pleasantness of this day surpassed other days on this long route to Anchorage.

The Best Western serves a hearty free breakfast off the lobby of the hotel. The NASCAR races were playing on the tv. A man from Tennessee, contracted to work with the refinery, explained what he knew of racing and the interesting project Valdez had undertaking to produce fuel from the oil piped down from Prudhoe Bay. Alaskans pay the highest cost for fuel and produce the greatest amount of oil in the country. This had to change! 

After a breakfast of scrambled eggs and sausage, we packed up and checked out of the hotel. The snow fell in heavy clumps while Rick loaded up the Camry while I attempted to finish yesterday’s post. The white stuff had accumulated on the roof of our dirty vehicle overnight. The roads had been plowed but the ride was bumpy from freshly falling snow on the way to the ferry terminal.

Upon pulling up to the gate, our companions had arrived previously and were outside throwing snowballs to their golden retriever. With a happy tail wagging, she raced after the condensed ball of snow. Goldens live to fetch. 

Before the MV Chenega arrived, we hung out with our newfound friends, watching their golden and chatting about our destination and our travels. As the large catamaran pulled up to the new dock, waves pushed against the cement pad where our cars were lined up in three rows. 

The car at the front of the line stalled while engines were running in the surrounding vehicles. After a good jump, the lead car was ready to go two cars in front of us. Other cars had filed in ahead of their Jeep as we waited our turn in the row behind their car. Up to the ramp and then stalling out, the crew gathered together to push their car onto the catamaran and out of the way. 

After parking the car and acquiring things from the Camry, we made our way up the staircase to the passenger deck. Seeing Austin, I inquired where they had parked. We brought our things to the table behind them and after our departure, sat with them for a long game of Hearts taking breaks for sightseeing. 

Nellie had done interpreting on the slow ferry some years before and pointed out some of the highlights, including where the oil tanker had run aground near Valdez back in 1989. The sky was gray with a mixture of snow and rain falling as the ship passed snow covered mountains and glaciers near fingers of the Prince William Sound. A hump back whale showed his back and flopped his tail outside our window while the ship traveled at 32 knots.

Begich Towers, Whittier.
The approach to Whittier is always met with wonderment. How could an entire town live in one building? What was the massive gray structure tucked into the side of the mountains? With the longest tunnel in North American at the outskirts of town, when would Anchorage-bound traffic to pass through? At the same time, travelers are met with a sense of awe at the incredible beauty of this town nestled into huge mountains at the edge of the Prince William Sound. 

Note the number of cm's.
Not wanting our visit to end, we exchanged business cards as the vessel neared the dock. We said goodbye while other passengers had already headed down to the lower level where their cars were parked. Racing back to the Camry somewhere in this sea of parked cars, we prepared to disembark for a late lunch in Whittier. 

Ghosts hung from strings outside Whittier's only hotel. The Anchor Inn, a local hangout was probably open but decided to have a fancy meal instead of burgers. Entering this hotel with wooden pillars, we stepped into a place unlike the rest of Whittier. We walked to the bar on the slate floors, looking for a fast meal before the tunnel opened.


We wanted to connect with Mike, a friend who used to work with Rick when he was the city manager in Whittier but didn't have his phone number. Being such a small town, the woman at the front desk and the bartender reached him at home. 

While I made my weekly call to Dad, he showed up in the lobby not knowing who had summoned him. With a look of surprise, he greeted me in the lobby with hugs and then entered the bar where Rick was watching the Oakland Raiders game. After an hour visit, we said goodbye and headed for the tunnel hoping to pass through the 4pm opening. 


Driving through this endless tunnel, we recalled the video I took of the tunnel through a mountain outside of Portage two years ago. Emerging from the tunnel, the Portage glacier could be seen in the distance with a newly formed lake in front of it. When Rick first saw the glacier in 1967, it could teach it from the parking lot. It has receded so much that it can barely be seen from there. 


Instead of stopping at the visitors center, we continued on the Seward Highway to Girdwood while the snow continued to fall. Turning off the highway, we drove into the town made famous by Ted Stevens and the Alyeska Resort. Driving the hill, the excitement mounted as I remembered our previous visit in 2008. 


Walking into the lobby, we encountered an ivory whale and a hunter and spear. Above the two story lobby, is a platform contained a full-sized, stuffed polar bear. For an additional $20, we upgraded to a room with a view of the valley and picked up the spa menu for tomorrow's treatments.


A bellhop brought up our luggage while I scouted the ice machine to fill the silver, lined bucket. After settling in, Rick dressed for dinner and then headed down to the bar on the second floor to watch the late-night football game while I finished yesterday's blog post. 


In the quiet room with dark colored wood accents, I finished the blog and dressed for dinner at Jack Sprat's. Meeting Rick at the bar, we made our way through the soft snow to the Camry for the short drive to this local hangout. The well-lit, a-framed building was located near the sourdough bakery where we hoped to eat breakfast tomorrow.


We were greeted by one of the two owners of this upscale restaurant and taken to our table in the a-framed window at a corner table. Attempting to find the right wine to pair with our fish dishes, we solicited the server's help. Soon the partner brought out three bottles of wine and recommended the Martin Codax Albarino from Spain that would produce jealous remarks from our friends who love Spanish wine. 

For dinner, Rick had the pan-seared Idaho trout piled on top of baby spinach, julienne veggies and a champagne, caper-berry sauce. I ordered the pan-fried ling cod atop couscous, veggies, and a balsamic sauce. Outstanding! For dessert, we shared a baked apple with a pastry crust, apple crisp topping, and fig gilato. Out of this world. We sipped decaf coffee in an afterglow of this most outstanding meal made from local ingredients and absolutely fresh.


Our server rang up our bill and encouraged to return for their special Thanksgiving dinner. We would return someday. Sliding on the snow-layered road, Rick guided the Camry onto the street for the short drive to the resort. What an outstanding end to a day of new friends, beautiful scenery, and excellent food. What a blessing. Tomorrow we will complete our journey to Anchorage from the Lower 48.

Slower Pace from Tok to Valdez

Mountains between Tok and Valdez.
Saturday was the first day of our more relaxed schedule. Instead of traveling up the rest of the Alaska Highway to Fairbanks, we decided drive to Valdez and later to Anchorage. There's a lot more snowfall on the coastal routes, which made for some gorgeous views and snow-covered roads.

Waking up in a log cabin under a moose quilt in Tok, we took our time getting ready for breakfast. The landmark restaurant Fast Eddy's had become our dining choice. The roads of Tok were quiet after the Halloween festivities at the K-12 the night before. After breakfast, we purchased gas for the trip to Valdez, checked out of the cabin and then began the trek southwest.

Restaurants along the Tok cutoff and then Glenn Highway are few and most have already closed for the winter. While we were not hungry enough to eat, we stopped in the larger community of Glenallen expecting to find something open. A combination gas station, convenience mart and gift store was our only choice. After perusing the gifts and using the facilities I purchasing a pizza stuffed pretzel from the young cashier behind the counter. She was from Salt Lake City but had moved to Glennallen with her boyfriend to be closer to his parents. 

Back on the road, the snow began to blow in tiny flakes. On both sides of the road, freshly plowed snow piled up. Mountains from the Alaska Range were so close you could reach out and touch them. Narrow valleys between these tall giants were obscured by the grayness of falling snow. Bumpy roads that had been plowed too many times kept Rick occupied while I opened and closed the window on the passenger side to capture some of the awesome beauty we kept seeing. 

When we neared the Thompson Pass, Rick mentioned the long descent that would ensue on the west side of the mountains. At an elevation of more 2700 feet, the car's descent would go on for miles. The snow continued to fall and deep pockets of snow revealed themselves as we made the descent. Alongside the road, there were happy snow trompers on holiday from Valdez. 

The Trans-Alaska Pipeline appeared close to the road now and again. More than 800 miles of oil transported from Prudoe Bay crescendos at transport stations in Valdez. Offloaded onto barges for the lower 48,  millions of dollars worth of oil were flowing through that pipeline while bald eagles perched on branches watched for food along the Robe River. Several were sighted flying around various parts of the river's delta, and we continued our descent.

Valdez is located on the Prince William Sound near Cordova, Rick's old stomping grounds as a kid; and Whittier, where he had spent two and a half years as a city manager. We drove the streets of this wealthy city looking for a hotel to stay for the night. After scoping out the possibilities, we settled on the Valdez Best Western. We rented a king room with a view of the harbor on two sides. The heat had been turned off and the room was cold when we entered. 

View from our room at the Best Western
We rushed to unpack and made our way to the Pipeline Room, a local hangout built at the same time as the Alaska pipeline. In its younger days, the bar was frequented by pipeline workers. We met the bartender at the door. He informed us the bar wouldn’t open for another half hour we could go across the street to Sharkbites for food and to watch the Ducks game.

Across the threshold of the darkened room, a blonde woman in her fifties was bartending and a fisherwoman was having a slow drink at the bar. Big screen tv with the Ducks game playing. A twenty-something couple decked out in Ducks gear cheering. The girl's father was visiting from Wisconsin. Rand had passed up on an opportunity to work in Alaska when his two daughters were young but passed it up due to the weather extremes. Nelli had much love for her father. She and her husband are working to prevent a mining operation from setting up shop on Bristol Bay where the largest population of salmon are found.

We ordered pizza from next door and watched the Ducks beat USC while people filtered in and out of the bar. Three women dressed in Halloween contests make a grand entrance. Guys off from work took up residence at the end of the bar. 

Cheering for the Ducks in the smoke-filled bar, we asked ourselves whether they still allow smoking in Alaska bars? Clothes smelling of smoke and two beers later, the fourth quarter ended with the Ducks stomped on the Trojans. Our fellow Duck fans, dressed in yellow and green, walked over to the Pipeline Club for dinner while we drove back to our room. Snow was falling in large flakes.

Taking a slower pace today meant giving into impulses to do the unexpected. It brought us in contact with people from different parts of the country and outside of our pattern of movement. Gorgeous mountains, snow-leveled roads, a couple of waterfalls, and some bald eagles were in our route.

Friday, October 29, 2010

Back in Alaska

After attending a live performance at the Yukon Art Centre last night, we arrived back at the Westmark Hotel for our last evening in Canada. Entitled ‘Up There,’ the three artists shared stories of the Far North, the Canadian Far North that is. These biographical tales were interwoven with music and song that had the audience laughing at the beginning and tearful at the end. Two of the performers were from Whitehorse and the other Yellow Knife, Yukon Territory.

Thinking about my experiences in Alaska, I understand that these short stories have roots in the air. Only after many generations could one claim his experiences of the Great White North are rooted deep in the earth.

We set the alarm for 7 am, instead of our usual 6, and finally crawled into bed well after midnight. When the alarm rang this morning, the darkness of the night lingered as we repacked our suitcases and exited the Presidential Suite. I walked to the nearby Starbucks for coffee and a chai latte while Rick checked out at the front desk. This lone coffee kiosk was the only one I remembered seeing while traveling along the Alaska Highway.

After gassing up, we made our way towards Haines Junction on the old familiar. A little town of 840 persons, Haines Junction was touted as having four restaurants, hotels, a gas station, museum, and other amenities. The snow was falling when we pulled into town. 

After the third closed sign, we found a restaurant at Al-Can Motel with a neon sign that said ‘OPEN.’ Our server was a petite Yukoner wearing a smile and stylishly layered shirts under her hoodie. The basic breakfast included hasbrowns that had been battered and fried crispy, eggs with lightly colored yolks and thickly sliced wheat bread. For another couple bucks, you could have your choice of meat: bacon, split-fried sausage, or ham.

Grateful for this open restaurant, Rick gave our young server the last of our Canadian money and a few dollars American for the tip. At the junction, we turned left and headed west towards the border. The roughest road of the trip lay between Haines Junction and the Canadian border and the snow continued to fall lightly onto the powdery build up. Breezy conditions made the snow dance in swirls as we followed a semi-truck out of town.

The road climbed steadily upward towards the tallest pass between Whitehorse and Fairbanks, only 15 miles from the little town we left behind. At more than 3,200 feet elevation, we were up and over it in no time.

Huge mountains of gargantuan proportion lay ahead at an upcoming turn in the road, mountains of which there are few equal. The St. Elias Mountain Range includes the tallest in the Yukon at 19,250 feet. Mt. Logan, and its siblings, stood tal against the blue and gray sky. Destruction Bay in the foreground, I snapped a bunch of pics between ahhs and wows. The road crossed Destruction Bay and followed the base of these snow-capped beauties.

As we neared the border several hours later, our hungry grew. Beaver Creek was the planned stop. The Milepost had promised this border town of 102 included year-round restaurants and is only 113 miles to Tok. The first restaurant was in the process of closing up for the winter, two others were also closed, but at last we stopped at a Race Track Gas station for a sandwich and a beverage to go. Our twenty-something cashier works as a manager at the Beaver Creek Westmark during the summer and for the store during other times.


Back on the road we drove for awhile until nearing the Canadian border crossing. Just before crossing, we stopped at the ‘Welcome to Alaska’ sign and interpretative kiosk for pictures. Rick’s happiness brimmed over as we celebrated our accomplishment. At once the signage along the road was instantly recognizable. Those old familiar speed limit signs in miles per hour were posted along the highway’s shoulder. No more conversion to metric. The freshly paved highway lay in front of us with less than 100 miles to our evening destination.

The crossing is similar to that of a toll booth at a bridge, not nearly as imposing as the crossing into Canada from the south. Snapping a few photos, we sped through without stopping. The U.S. border stop was 30 kilometers ahead. At this small crossing, the lights above the lanes were red. As we cautiously moved forward, the border guard waved his arms to stop. The light never did turn green but the man motioned us to move slowly forward. Before reaching the gate, a camera flashed to the left of us, imprinted in time. 

Driving into Tok, my muscles began to ease. Located at the confluence of the Alaska Highway and Highway 1, we had traveled the roughest roads to arrive at our first Alaska destination. We drove by motels, Fast Eddy’s Restaurant, and other restaurants and services. There is a good-sized school building and an Alaska Department of Resources office in this community of  more than 1,400 persons. A traveler can drive to Whitehorse, Anchorage, Fairbanks or Valdez from Tok.

Caribou Cottages Cabin #1
When we pulled into the secluded parking lot for the Caribou Cottages Bed & Breakfast, the door to the log-styled home opened and we were greeted by Kris and Carrie. After a brief conversation and payment, we drove the short distance to Cabin 1. Opening the door to the log cabin, the warm air drifted out. This small cottage came equipped with a small Jacuzzi tub, and upstairs loft, microwave, refrigerator, tv and WiFi.


After unloading all of our gear, we reviewed our travel arrangements and decided to take a more relaxed approach to the final leg of our journey. The coziness and warmth of this little cabin was intoxicating. A good meal and a relaxed evening were needed after so many days on the road. Another day of experience in the Far North was complete.


Thursday, October 28, 2010

On the Way to Whitehorse, Yukon Territory

Cassir Mountains, Yukon Territory
The stretch between Muncho and Watson lakes is about as isolated as you can get. Beginning our journey before the sun rose, we drove through darkness behind a semi that lit the way. Watson Lake is the largest city between Muncho Lake and Whitehorse, the capitol of the Yukon Territory. We had to reach Watson Lake as soon as possible to secure a new tire for the Camry. Then we could ride in confidence through the rest of our trip.

Miles and miles of empty road stretched in front of us as temperatures continued to drop. Two bison munching frozen grass next to the road were undisturbed by our passing. Yellow signs with a detailed bison were placed strategically along the road.

Soon the light began to shine as the descent from the Northern Rockies delivered us closer to our destination. As the car neared Watson Lake, our eyes strained to see signs advertising tire repair shops. Yes! There was a place! We pulled onto the frontage road as we entered town and slowed the car near Bee Jay’s Service. Looks were deceiving as my immediate reaction was ‘not there.’ We continued our search and then pulled into a repair shop with truckers parked outside. “What can I do for ya?” said a man exiting the shop building. “We have tire trouble,” Rick responded. “Down the road three blocks to Bee Jay’s,” and so we turned the car around and slowly pursued our tire-replacement destination.

Pulling into the parking lot near the ‘Tire Shop’ sign, we jumped out of the car and entered the side entrance. As we walked through announcing our presence, there was a mechanic working on a car. When we entered a door at the far end of the garage, there was a counter with a cash register in front of us. Seeing a woman with glitter in her hair, we inquired about getting our tire fixed. The young waitress, with lace trim below her hoodie, went in search of the tire guy while we decided to eat breakfast in the café. The breakfast special was two eggs, a pancake, and your choice of meat: bacon, sausage or ham.

The tire guy appeared and Rick went out to display our ruptured tire to this young man in greasy coveralls. After several minutes, Rick and the tire guy appeared. The fix price tag was $147 Canadian, plus mounting and balancing for a new tire. “Great! Let’s do it,” I agreed.

When Rick went out to check the progress, I settled up with our twenty-something waitress, and then joined them in the shop. Seeing the tire was nearly changed, I went to see the manager to pay the $172 bill, who took all the cards except Discover.

Back on the road, our next stop was to fill the gas tank after which time we headed for the Watson Lake Signpost Forest. At temperatures hovering around 19 degrees, we walked through seeing signs from places like San Anselmo, California, to Shoshone, Idaho. Places in Canada and the Midwestern United States were also represented. This was our first touristy activity after more than 1,200 miles. After pics were taken of familiar places, we set out for the last stretch of Alaska Highway for today. The lonely stretch of road along the borders of British Columbia and the Yukon Territory contains miles of dense forests and a light sprinkling of snow on the ground. Another 260 miles to go on this day.

When we stopped in Teslin, YT, for lunch, a young man recognized us as being the ones along the side of the road changing the tire the previous day. He was happy to know we had made it and shared the camaraderie of travel along the Alaska Highway to Anchorage. We had seen them stopped on the shoulder as a convoy including an empty car trailer, moving van, Jeep and other vehicle, on their way to Anchorage. They are trying to make it through Whitehorse tonight because the white stuff is expected to accumulate on the ground through that area and beyond before night’s end. The young man with a short-cropped haircut and his wife were from Idaho. His aunts, along for the ride, were from Tennessee. As they departed, we said we would probably see them on the way somewhere. After a late lunch, we departed as the light snow fell. Only two hundred more miles to Whitehorse.

While there’s not much civilization along the way, we did encounter the beautiful Cassir Mountains and several lakes. Up and down mountains with varying outside temperatures was the variety that broke up the monotony along this long stretch of road.

Whitehorse, the capitol of the Yukon Territory, is a hip town of 24,000 and only 396 miles to our first Alaska destination, Tok. We entered this cultural city that includes a convention center and the Yukon Art Centre, along with a few museums. We travel along the Yukon River to the Westmark Hotel. As a beacon to a former day, the SS. Klondike sits dry docked along the highway. The downtown core has a mix of groovy renovated buildings and four story office buildings. After a day of calculating the mileage, we are finally here.

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Breakfast in Quesnel, British Columbia

After driving for an hour this morning, we found ourselves in the city of Quesnel, the ‘s’ is silent. Darkness and forest accompanied us on this second morning in British Columbia. As part of our new routine, we had left the hotel early and catching breakfast within an hour or two of the day’s drive.

As we drove through this city of more than 10,000 people, there were few places to eat breakfast. Denny’s, the American Institution, and two Billly Horton’s, along with a couple of Subways and a bakery, was the entire array of choices. Beginning our exit from this town of seven mills, we found an old fashioned diner across the street from a couple of sawmills and decided to stop.

As we pulled into the empty parking lot in front of the Quesnel Drive-Inn Restaurant, the waitress was wearing a worried look. After seating ourselves, she made her way to our table and offered coffee. After we discussed tea options, she asked if we needed menus. Just then an elderly man slipped in and before sitting at the head of a long table he said, “Do you mind if I sit here in my pajamas?” “No, it’s fine with us,” I replied. Another man came in, wearing jeans and a lined-jeans jacket; grabbed a cup of Joe; and disappeared.

While breakfast was cooked by the waitress’s mother, I noticed a large Thanksgiving cactus in full bloom. Complimenting our dark-haired waitress on the plant, a little giggle escaped her mouth. Then she explained that plants grew well for her mother but not her. The décor of this seventy’s diner was a large wristwatch-styled wall clock, more plants, a a battery-operated Billy Bass mounted on a plastic placque, and the Cookie Cop.  Upon opening its hat, this diet-conducive cookie jar rang out “Step Away from the cookie jar.” The thirty-something waitress giggled. “My grandmother should have had one of these for when I went to visit her,” I responded.

The man in the p.j.s was served his usual hashbrowns with onions as he continued to talk about his younger days working in Fort St. John in a lumber camp. Not had much but a change of clothes, he said, not even a bed before arriving there in the 1970s. “That’s about eight hours from her,” he informed us of the time we had left for today’s destination.

Such items as homemade cranberry rhubarb jam, maple syrup heated in an empty juice jar, and pepper sauce for the hashbrowns began appearing on our table before this woman in her thirties delivered our traditional breakfast meals. Large plates held sausage split in half and fried on both sides, thick pancakes, meaty bacon, hashbrowns with onions, sourdough toast, eggs cooked perfectly. The food was reminiscent of traveling in rural areas of California, Nevada, Colorado and Oregon.

When we had our fill, Rick paid the giggling waitress in Canadian currency and she reminded us to sign the guest book. “Done already,” I chimed, “Kotzebue, Alaska. Got a long way to go.” “Have a good, safe drive,” she responded. With smiles all around, we opened the door to leave as it jingled in response. Back onto the Caribou Highway we went. The next big stop will be Prince George, a city of more than 80,000 persons.


Monday, October 25, 2010

First Day in Canada

After a late night in Bellingham, Rick and I awoke to the sound of his cell phone alarm. Today was our first official day on the road to Anchorage. The border crossing was only an hour away. What is it like visiting a different country? Today would be the first taste of life in Canada.


After eating breakfast at Best Western Lakeway Inn, we set for the U.S.-Canadian boarder. Rick had decided to cross at  Sumas, a farming community. We passed through the Dutch-themed town of Linden, stopping at a post office to mail some papers to work. As we approached the border patrol gate, I snapped pics of the custom's building, gate, and booth. The rain was coming down and the pics had to be taken between wiper passes of the Camry's windshield.

We pulled out our passports and gave them to the border gate. He asked questions about where we were going, why did we have Oregon license plates but live in Alaska, did we plan to leave anything in Canada? Rick handled this interrogation easily and supplied the officer enough information to make an appropriate decision about our desire to pass through his country. Once he was satisfied, the man's face brightened, and he wished us a good day. We thanked him and reciprocated the good wishes.

I was giddy with excitement as we passed through the Abbotsford gate. This was my first trip out of the U.S. Road signs along the highway instruct drivers about laws relating to passing lanes, driving responsibly, and who to contact if a person is driving suspiciously. Distance indicator signs distances in metric and we began to calculate the distance to our evening resting place: Williams Lake, British Columbia.

We followed Canadian Highway 1 as it merged with Highway 97. The terrain is very similar to some areas along the Washington and Oregon sections of Highway 97: high desert and lodge pole pine forests. Deep canyons carved out by rivers were accented by fall colors of burgundy and yellow. After finishing reading 'Fifty Miles Until Tomorrow' by Wiliiam Hensley, I took a nap.

Our lunch destination was Cache Creek, B.C., a city of more than 2,000 persons. The Bear's Claw Lodge serves great burgers and salads for lunch. The hotel lobby contains artifacts from the community's gold rush days. A stuffed grizzly bear held a "Please Don't Touch Me" sign and the lodge had beautiful wooden beams in a log cabin style. The rain had turned to a sprinkle. I snapped a couple photos of the building's exterior and lobby before lunch was served.

After a yummy lunch, we continued down Highway 97 for the last 70 miles of today's trek. While reviewing some maps in The Milepost, the definitive book on travel along through Canada on the Alaska Highway and in the 49th state. This travel guide measures distances from place to place in a complex manner that is very accurate. To make it easier to chart our progress, I bookmarked the recent map page with a Canada fold out map and another bookmark on the page containing the running edit for the area.

Williams Lake.
By late afternoon, our Camry rolled into today's destination. Williams Lake has a population of more than 10,000. It is the largest city we've driven through since before crossing the border. There is a nice downtown area, four automobile dealerships, a Safeway, Save-On market, and a theater group. After driving around for awhile, we located the Coast Fraser Inn. This hotel offers comfortable rooms with comfortable beds, a flat panel tv, and plenty of sitting room.

Exploring downtown lead to a visit to Open Book. This bookstore has a great selection of magazines and newspapers. After locating a couple of books on childcare, we walked to a sports bar for dinner. The Oliver Street Bar offers tasty dishes made from locally grown meats and vegetables. There are several large flat panel tvs hanging from the walls playing Monday Night Football. The game between Dallas and New York was in the first quarter.

The young woman seated who seated us, recited the beverage list. After asking the hostess to repeat the different beers, we made our selection. A similar thing happened when our server told us about the menu items. We realized that we were having trouble understanding them because we have an accent and then laughed about being foreigners.

Once we made this adjustment, we had a conversation about our travels. She would like to visit the Oregon Coast with her husband and three month old soon but her daughter doesn't travel well yet. Perhaps when their daughter became a teenager, they could leave her at home with friends and make the trip with her husband alone.

Written on our bill was 'Have a safe trip, Victoria.' We paid the ticket, amazed at how reasonably priced was this delicious meal. After stopping at the Safeway for breakfast snacks, we returned to the hotel. Rick comfortably watched the remainder of the Monday night game, and I caught up on emails before writting this post.

Tomorrow we will drive to Fort St. John, a city 440 miles from Williams Lake. Mapquest indicates the trip will take a little more than eight hours. We will drive through Dawson Creek, the official beginning marker of the Alaska Highway. The remainder of this evening will be spent relaxing and enjoying the rest of the Canadian evening together.