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.

Sunday, October 24, 2010

Visiting Family and friends on the way to Anchorage

The weekend has been a mixture of visiting with family and friends as well as driving. Traveling to the Lower 48 gave us the opportunity to visit those whom we won’t see again for quite a longtime. We made the most of the time and proximity in the northern and central coastal areas of Oregon.

After picking up the Toyota Camry at the dealership in Salem, we visited Jason, Patty and Lauren in their suburban home. Jason met us at the door, along with their golden retriever Mookie. Once inside, Rick’s son handed his three-month-old daughter to her grandfather. With a smile, Rick held this infant with light hair and a blend of Jason’s and Patty’s features.

In her rush to independence, Lauren grows daily. Her most recent discovery is her feet. While Rick held her, she kept leaning towards her feet. Lauren has also learned to flip over onto her stomach. As a precursor to learning how to crawl, Lauren lifts herself off the floor onto her hands and knees. Soon they will have to kid-proof the house.

The only child of Rick’s oldest son, Lauren’s middle name is Faith. Later in the day, we would visit Lauren’s namesake in Lincoln City for Faith’s 106th birthday weekend.

After saying good bye, we began the hour and a half trip west to see Lauren’s namesake in Lincoln City. Staring at the green trees and thick forests through rain-drenched windows, the route is similar to the route to Reedsport along Highway 38. Deciduous trees are dropping their leaves. Beautiful burgundy and gold colors punctuated the green background. Heavy rains washed down the ravines as leaves and small branches made their way through the rushing waters of creeks and tributaries on their way out to the Pacific Ocean.

Along the way, we stopped to get gas. Ahhh, nice to have someone pump gas for us again. We stopped at a roadside restaurant that served a great lunch of salads, burgers and sandwiches. Café 22 West’s décor is a blend of Fifty’s retro and Oregon casual. In the same parking lot is an old-fashioned fruit stand where we picked up veggies, fresh apple cider and pies to contribute to the evening meal with Grand ma.

106th year old Faith Callahan
Upon our arrival, Rick’s aunt and uncle sang a phrase of Alaska’s state song as they welcomed us into the bounty of family who had taken the opportunity to celebrate Faith’s birthday.

After dinner at Mo’s, we departed for the Century Hotel in Tualatin. A business hotel, this hotel would be our resting station for the remainder of the night. After checking in, we walked to Hayden’s restaurant for dessert and relaxation. Two sisters and a fellow musician entertained the crowd. The harmonic blend of their two voices, along with his skilled guitar playing were pleasing to our ears and hearts.

After a long sleep in a comfortable bed, we awoke to begin the second day of visits, first with Rick’s daughter for breakfast at Hayden’s. Sara is an interior design student at Portland Community College. After catching up on life for Rick’s youngest child, we spent the remainder of an hour enjoying her exuberance about life ahead.

After re-packing our luggage, we made our way to I-5 for a forty minute drive to Portland where we were scheduled to meet friends at Powell’s Books. From I-205, we entered the state’s most populated city. Tall buildings touching the sky and metropolitan traffic had been a distant memory.  We were indeed far from the village of Kotzebue now.

After locating the Portland landmark, we parked the car in a nearby garage and walked through Whole Foods Market to Powell’s. I couldn’t resist wandering the aisles of this natural food store, similar to one I had visited in Graton a few years ago.

Our friends were awaiting our arrival and after more shopping, we went to lunch at Deschutes Brewery. My heart filled as we exchanged news from Reedsport and Kotzebue. At the end of our scheduled two hours, Rick and I departed for Bellingham, Washington.

Fall color along Washington's I-5 corridor.
After four and a half hours, we drove into the parking lot of our resting place for the night: the Best Western Lakeway Inn. We had made one stop about 30 miles prior to stretch our legs in Walmart. We relaxed in the sports lounge for a late dinner. Rick watched the rest of the Vikings/Green Bay football game and I made my weekly call to Dad. The day began and ended with family. As we continue this trek, our hearts will be filled by the visits and feelings of love for family and friends we have left behind.

Saturday, October 23, 2010

Beginning of our Trip to the Lower 48

When the doors closed, we settled in for the hour and a half flight to Anchorage. I was finally on the way to the Lower 48. The crescendo of activity leading up to the event had now passed and the wait began.

As the jet sped down the runway, I breathed a prayer for our safe flight, connecting once again with our Father. I imagined watching our flight taking off from our livingroom window. Front and then back wheels leaving the pavement of Kotzebue and flying directly to Anchorage. After watching so many Alaska flights taking off, I was finally on one.

Soon the fight attendants were serving drinks. Some had not had a drink in a longtime. Others might have made their last purchase from Kotzebue's package store. Closing my eyes, I dozed for most of the flight, waking only when the pressure in my ears increased significantly.

The sun had already set and darkness had followed when I realized that my boarding pass was only to Anchorage. Dazed and fighting off a seasonal cold, I told ticket counter worker that I was going to Anchorage, which meant my luggage would also be picked up in Anchorage. Ooops.

Leaving the security area, I rushed to the baggage claim to pick up my large suitcase and walked to the ticket counter to obtain the next boarding pass. With only twenty minutes before boarding, I checked in my luggage again. After paying the luggage fee, I joined others about to be herded through security. Wth the clock ticking, I rushed through security and made my way to the gate.

Rick’s flight from Fairbanks was running late. Still dazed, I went to the gate operator to let her know of his late flight. Alaska had already been informed and planned to hold the plane for a short time. After listening to the choices, I decided to risk it and wait for Rick. Stopping at Quizno’s for dinner and visiting with an engineer from Kotzebue, I awaited Rick’s arrival. When he texted that he was on the ground, I informed the gate keeper. She was pleased and soon Rick appeared in his business attire, ready to board the plane.

The flight from Anchorage to Seattle took more than three hours. Flying over Canada and the rest of the Great State of Alaska, the lights of Seattle beamed below. Seeing this civilizaion, I understood why the Lower 48 is called the Outside. Miles and miles of streetlights and building beams could be seen from above. Kotzebue has three streets that are paved. The remainder are gravel. There are no streetlights. There was only one more leg and we would be in Portland.

Our arrival was late and so we had less time to sit at the terminal. Hoirizon Air is located on Concourse C and shares the terminal with Alaska. Crowding into the small space, the the next terminal a flight for Eugene was scheduled to board soon after the Portland flight.

The thirty-five minute flight to Portland seemed to race by and we found ourselves on the ground at PDX. After nearly 12 hours of traveled, we arrived in Portland. 

On the ride to the Portland Sheratin, the shuttle bus driver told us of a young man who was bartending there. Rocky Brown had graduated from Reedsport High School ten years prior and had movde to this area a couple of years later. Some will remember Rocky as a star football player, whose head was so large Coach Akre had to find him a NFL football helmet to wear. After checking into our room and carrying up the luggage, we made our way over to the bar to catch up with Rocky and grab a bite to eat.

Rocky is another RHs graduate who appreciated growing up in Reedsport. Now with a young child, he wished he could return to his alma mater to raise his kids. Like many small towns, there aren't jobs to support this generation's return to their roots. Many times we had wished that those of Rocky’s generation could return to Reedsport and breathe new life into our town. Much of the work I did to restore vitality to that area was in hopes to bring them back. Someday hopefully they will have what it takes to bring those kids home.

Falling into bed at about 1:30am, Kotzebue seemed more like a dream than reality to me. This world felt more like home. After a long day of travel from airline to airline, I drifted off to sleep soon after climbing into bed. Our early departure time would arrive soon. Best to be ready for it.

Kotzebue seemed so far away. It would be ten days before our return. It was time to stretch out and do something totally different.

Preparing for the flight to the Lower 48

I awoke to flapping sounds Friday morning. Unable to go back to sleep, I got up and began packing the rest of my things. Rick and I were headed for the Outside. That's what the Lower 48 is to people in Alaska. And flying over Seattle late last night, I understood why.

But until 1:20pm, I had to continue living as normally as possible in temperatures hoovering around 20 degrees. It had snowed on Thursday and stuck. Driving to work on Friday morning, I dove slowly while my heart raced. Several hours before my flight. Sunrise was not expected until 9:30am but there were hints of dawn in the sky.

After scrambling to get everything possible done at work, I rushed over to the bank and then P.O. On the way to the post office, I passed Sarah and Tryson in the van. She and I had coordinated our travels so that she could drive the van back from the airport.

With the road construction on Shore Avenue buttoning up for the winter, cars were parked randomly near the Eskimo building for the morning mail run. Pulling up near Shore, I was awed by the snow-covered mountains across the Sound. So struck was I by the beauty of the Sound with its ice blocks forming that when I stepped out onto the hardened snow, I slippe. On the way down, I hit my shoulder. Sarah appeared as a Godsend and helped me up. She went into the post office while I waited in the van to regain my balance.

When Sarah reappeared, I was ready to drive the short distance to the airport. Focusing on the road, there was a new pain in my left shoulder. Sarah assisted in bringing into the Alaska Airlines terminal, my big suitcase filled with a ten-day supply of clothing. After checking in, we hugged and I watched her walk away.

The terminal was crowded for this non-stop flight to Anchorage. I sat next to an elderly woman for a short time and then, feeling her discomfort, stood up to locate another seat. There was another open seat in the second row of chairs next to some young men who were flying to Anchorage for an adventure.

A blast of cold air brought in the passengers from milk-run Flight 152. Greetings were shared by loved ones who had waited for their arrival. Flying in Alaska is a way of life and has been for many years. Distances are not measured in miles but in flight duration. While some are very uncomfortable flying, they have accepted it as part of normal life above the Arctic Circle where goods and services are in short supply.

Finally walking towards the plane, I looked around to capture the images of home: snowy tundra and the  buildings of Kotzebue. After finding my assigned seat, I puled off my orange, REI jacket. The thick lining would have to be removed soon or I would roast. Out the window, the wind was gusting at 30 miles per hour. Confident in the regularity of flights in these conditions, I knew we would be safe. Snow blew snow across the paved surface of the airstrip. Temperatures had warmed to 21 degrees as the attendants directed us to read the safety cards in the seat pocket in front of us. The engine sounds began to roar and soon the plane raced towards the tundra, wheels lifting from the runway before olliding into the hill in front of us. Off we went.

Sunday, October 10, 2010

Trip to Kivalina

x

Early morning departure for Kivalina.
This was my second trip to Kivalina, the native village located on a thin peninsula north of Kotzebue. The mission was to provide assistance in this club's re-opening after a two-year closure. When I arrived at ERA Aviation the day after the trip to Noorvik, employees recognized me.

The flight to Kivalina involved two stops: one to the village of Noatak and the other to Red Dog Mine. The tundra was tinged with fushia leftover from the sunrise. The cold weather is claiming the lagoons and lakes with its icy tendrils. Crossing over mountains with snow-tipped peaks, I clicked off photos.

After twenty minutes, we landed in Noatak where our bush pilot began unloading case after case of Pepsi. While loading the atv-powered trailer destined for the native store, its owner commented, "They love soda in the villages."

Two college students climbed aboard with their cameras and overnight bags. They are doing a research paper on how climate changes are affecting native fishing habits in Northwest Alaskan villages. Initially these University of Alaska-Fairbanks women interviewed the village elders but later realized the importance of interviewing younger fishermen as they had also experienced a change in fishing practices.

The air strip at Red Dog Mine was our next destination. This paved and well-lit airstrip is capable of accommodating jet landings. The mine is situated in a small valley surrounded by gorgeous mountains. We picked up a few passengers, including one of my advisory board members.

Kivalina on a narrow peninsula
Heading due west, the passenger plane made its way for the tiny peninsula where Kivalina is currently situated. The town had already been relocated once. Recent discussions about moving the town again had ended with a decision to stay put. With the ocean on three sides of the village, I am unnerved by the narrowness of the land.  Our pilot skillfully lands on their tiny airstrip. There is snow on the ground, and the small ocean waves lap the disappearing beach.

After meeting up with Rose, we rode her four wheeler into the village and stopped at the native store. We decided to do the interviews at the new clubhouse. After finding the heating oil valve, she warmed the freezing room and the interviews commenced -- 11 of them for two positions. Each one desiring a job, most not having graduated from high school.

We took a break for an advisory board meeting. Into the gym we went for cafeteria food and then made our way in the faculty lounge to discuss the progress of the club's opening and how each partner will be benefited by its involvement in the club. A quick trip to the restroom and then the short walk back to the clubhouse, we completed our last interviews.

We made our picks and then it was time to rush to the airstrip to meet our return flight. We walked the short distance to the airstrip and met up with a subsistence hunter sitting on a four-wheeler. The man, dressed in traditional Inupiat clothing, spoke informatively of the caribou's late arrival and which seals to hunt. His mannerisms echoed what I had read in books.

On the return trip, Fritz and I talked of how corporate giving was changing. More discernment of need and a focus on greater impact are two methodologies practiced by corporations. Saying good bye for now, Fritz deplaned at Red Dog. The remainder of the flight included a stop in Noatak to unload passengers and the boarding of a mentor for bush teachers. Our discussions revealed the nature of her work with new teachers, who need additional tools necessary to be successful. The program has been highly successful.

Seeing the Kotzebue skyline, I sighed and the pilot navigated the landing at the paved airstrip in this hub city. After thanking the pilot, I walked towards the white van feeling discombobulated and tired from two days of travel. After texting Rick of my arrival, I drove the short distance home. The familiarity of the city was a comfort of sorts.

Monday, October 4, 2010

Visit to the Eskimo village of Noorvik

Noorvik is situated on the right bank of the Nazuruk Channel of the Kobuk River.
Traveling to Noorvik early last Monday morning proved to be quite eventful. Snow had fallen in Kotzebue on Sunday night and the locks on the van had frozen. Two boxes filled with supplies and a computer sat on the backseat waiting to be checked as luggage for the 40-minute flight to this small village. There was some urgency to deliver the supplies to the Noorvik club as I had heard they had almost nothing. The unit manager needed help in many ways.

Late last week we had received an email from the unit manager saying she was going to close the club if she didn't get some help. The club sees 40 kids a day. These very active children were too much for one person to provide a safe, clean, and fun place for them to be. I had to get on that plane, with those two boxes, and visit her.

As the time ticked away, the fire chief worked unsuccessfully to open the lock with a slim jim. Finally a fellow firefighter unlocked it. After contacting ERA Transportation to urge them to delay the departure, I raced to their terminal through the snowy streets of Kotzebue. After apologizing to the pilot, he explained their departure had been delayed so that they could spray down ice from the plane and runway.

Our Cessna Grand Carovan was fully loaded with cargo and passengers as we raced down the runway for a smooth liftoff. I prayed quietly thanking God for a safe journey and for the opportunity to serve the Noorvik community.

We flew over lagoons and ponds already iced over on their edges. Following the Noatak River the soggy tundra gleamed burgundy and brown. As we neared Kiana, a clearing on a nearby hill graced wooden crosses. At the bottom of this forested hill were discarded wooden boats and kayaks.

After ten minutes of unloading and then loading, the Cessna gathered momentum and lifted off the gravel air strip. When we landed in Noorvik. Patricia and a friend met me at the gravel airstrip in a red pick up. Her friend explained that she had barely enough gas to make the one mile journey to the airport and back. The fuel pump had been out of service for a few days.

Noorvik City Hall
The club is located across the dirt road from City Hall. Yellow caution tape and the city's line crew were running a water and sewer lines from the main to the Club's metal building. The dreariness of the buildings pulled on my heart. This club has no running water nor a toilet. The sign above the door showed signs of wear from extreme cold temperatures and wind.

Entering the kunychuck and then through the main door to the club, the heartbreak went deeper as I saw the nearly empty clubhouse. Children's artwork was taped to the white walls, along with the rules to the club. Patricia showed me the broken foos ball table, a game table the Kotzebue club had given her and a table with four chairs around it. There were a several board games, crayons, and colored pencils.

After interviewing two potential part-time instructors and replacing Patricia's computer, the morning had passed. In need of some facilities and lunch, I headed for city hall. I spoke with the local Nana Corporation representative and peaked through the door of the borough office. After seeing the bathroom downstairs, I went upstairs, met with the city clerk, and used their bathroom.

Walking down the dirt road, I nervously ventured farther from the club for a visit with the local native village government. Four wheelers and walkers passed as I turned the corner leaving the main road. Before speaking with the tribal leader, I shared stories of the success of Kotzebue's package store and learned of the difficulties of making progress in this village. The tribal manager Clara Brown, a very caring woman, promised to help find volunteers for the club. She also spoke of other support the IRA gives for the club.
Noorvik School appeared as a palace in Noorvik.
Upon the completion of our conversation, I made my way to the village's gorgeous school building. It is truly an oasis with its oak colored counters and window sills and tile floors. What a sharp contrast to the dirt streets and aging government housing outside. The principal had been expecting me. We had met last Friday in Kotzebue at Bering Air waiting for his flight back to Noorvik. We discussed how we could mutually assist local youths.

When I returned to the club, Patricia spoke of the many kids who had been in the club that day. I assured her the part time person would start in about a week and of others who promised to help. Relieved, we began making arrangements for me to return to the airstrip. While waiting outside the club, I ate the peanut butter and jelly sandwich I had made that morning. I was grateful Rick reminded me to bring food for the trip. Soon afterward a young teacher arrived on a four wheeler for the short ride to the airport. After waiting for five minutes, the small plane arrived. After the short flight, we arrived safely in Kotzebue. Driving the short distance home, I was amazed at yet another contrast: this hub city and village life. Happy to be home.