160. WAHOO!! Made it…journey’s end at Prudhoe Bay

1 Reply

Friday, 31 May 2019

Coldfoot, Alaska, USA

 

Up early.

Excited.

This is it folks.

Fasten your seatbelts.

The final few miles.

To the end of the road.

And the Arctic Ocean in Prudhoe Bay.

This has been the objective for all those months of travelling.

Have missed breakfast. Breakfast starts at 0400hrs. That’s not breakfast. That’s a midnight feast.

Short drive to another hotel, the Deadhorse Camp Hotel. Glad I’m staying at the Aurora Hotel. About a dozen of us have paid to go on the Arctic Ocean shuttle bus. Which is meant to depart at 0830hrs. Having rushed around like a blue bottomed fly to get here on time, I hate it when others are then late. Sat waiting for 15mins for two that are late.

Bet they’re French. It’s always the French.

But no.

Two lads cycle towards us. It’s minus 3C with a minus 10C windchill and they’re cycling along with bare hands. Stupid fools. They’re to ride home to Boston. Apparently.

Arctic Ocean access necessitates driving into a restricted oil drilling area operated by BP. Pass through the security checkpoint. As with most security checkpoints, it’s job creation rather than any security. Shuttle bus driver is mates with security guard. A nod and a wave and we’re through.

Drive through the oil fields with drilling rigs, offices, site establishment, workshops, plant and machinery yards and laydown areas with pipe spools. Having worked in the oil & gas and petro-chem industries, I am in my element. This is interesting stuff.

And then.

There it is.

The end of the road.

Quite literally.

The Arctic Ocean beyond the barrier.

Driver tells us to watch out for polar bears. If he honks his horn three times we’re to immediately rush back to the bus. Means there’s a polar bear coming.

Erm.

WHAT?!

Polar bears. Oh great. Make it this far and get gobbled up by a polar bear.

Not one to get emotional, I am actually a bit choked when I walk down to the water’s edge, keeping an eye out for polar bears.

I can go no further.

This is it.

My end point.

The longest and most adventurous trip I’ve ever done.

All those months of planning. All those years of grafting long hours to fund this little jaunt. All those months of travelling each day. Apart from the Alaska car ferry being cancelled at the last minute, everything has, very surprisingly, gone according to plan.

I am, quite frankly, chuffed to bits.

At times like this, it does make you wonder if someone is looking down on you.

Of all the places, find that I have a strong 4G phone signal. The first in two days. A few WhatsApp video calls to friends is in order. They’re all sitting at home on a Friday night, it’s a nice warm spring evening it seems. But I can only hold the phone in my hands for a few minutes at a time as it’s so cold. Not wanting frost bite at this late stage, it’s a case of video call, plunge hands into trouser pockets to warm up, video call, plunge hands into trouser pockets. And repeat. It’s chuffing freezing.  None of them can hardly hear what I’m saying because the wind is howling around me. All they can see is a frozen friend, wrapped up in waterproof clothing, sexy pashmina (free to a good home at the end of this trip…ladies…anyone want it??) and woolly hat. Like charades, it’s a case of point at the ice floes on the Arctic Ocean and giving a thumbs up and an award winning smile. Thankfully they get it.

Told a few celebratory drinks were drunk on my behalf tonight in the UK, Germany and Brasil.

So, dear reader, I know this news is slightly delayed because of my tardiness in keeping up with blogs, in part due to lack of internet access, but feel free to raise a glass and join me in a little drink to celebrate.

WAHOO!

Made it!

Antarctica to Alaska. TICK!

Cheers!

Bus driver has given us an hour. That’s a bit optimistic. After 15mins we’re all seeking the warmth of the bus. Such is the windchill.

Back the way we came through the BP oilfield restricted area. Buildings are either built on the permafrost or on stilts. They’re built on stilts to enable air to circulate underneath which makes the permafrost remain frozen. Where they’re built on the permafrost, pipes are buried under the foundations and vented to atmosphere. This is a form of passive cooling. The vent pipes take the heat out of the ground and maintain the permafrost in its frozen state.

Told that the Brooks Camp has rather a good shop for souvenirs, make a quick detour and find the sign at the entrance denoting the end of the Dalton Highway.

Souvenirs bought. Postcards sent. You lucky few.

There’s no other reason to stay any longer than necessary in Deadhorse, so as one shepherd said to the other, “Let’s get the flock out of here.”

Only one way up and only one way down. Back along the Dalton Highway. The first 50 miles along the causeway is now quite slippery. A few earthscrapers are levelling the road and to suppress the dust, large water bowsers are spraying water along the road. The gravel is obviously on a dirt base and with the water combines to make a slippery surface.

I can assure you there were a few squeaky bum moments as the car drifted on the straight and the corners in the gravel/mud slush. With a steep, long drop down to the Arctic tundra below. Might have been rallying a bit too much.

See a cyclist heading north. He looks a bit frozen. He’s German. Cycling from Fairbanks to Prudhoe Bay. And I thought it was only mad dogs and Englishmen.

Enter the valley through the Brooks Mountain range. Have made good progress and thinking to myself I really don’t want a puncture after all this. The tyres are getting a real hammering on the washboard section followed by a heavily potholed section. At one point, hit a pothole that is bigger and deeper than anticipated.

There’s a loud bang from the suspension.

The sort that cricks your neck.

That was a heavy hit.

The sort that would puncture a tyre.

But there’s no deflation.

Phew.

Survived that one.

Thankfully.

Continue driving.

And then.

A few minutes later.

The tyre pressure indicator warning light illuminates on the dashboard.

Oh.

Clucking.

Bell.

That’s.

All.

I.

Chuffing.

Need.

Still north of the Brooks Mountain Range. Still have to cross the Atigun Pass at 4,800ft.

Sod it.

Resigned to having to change a wheel. Stop the car. Jump out. Inspect the deflated tyre.

But.

They’re all seemingly in good order. After giving each a kick.

No flat tyre.

Sod it.

Must be a slow puncture.

Right. Will continue on as far as possible. I know there’s a pipeline/highway maintenance workshop the other side of the Atigun Pass. They’ll be able to help if I can’t get the wheel nuts off.

Gingerly drive to the top of the Atigun Pass. A few miles further up the road. Stop for a tyre check. I mean giving them a kick. Nope. All inflated. Must be a slow puncture. But which one?

Down the other side, pull in at the workshop. Another tyre check. Have now driven about 10 miles. None of the tyres seem to be deflating. They all look fine. They all feel at pressure.

Hmmmm.

It’s about 70 miles to my overnight stop at Coldfoot Camp. Can I really be that lucky and make it there on the tyres?

Stop after another 20 miles. Tyres seem to be holding pressure.

Hmmmm.

Wonder if it could possibly be a sensor issue. It being knocked when the suspension grounded on the pothole.

35 miles from Coldfoot, at the junction for Dietrich, the gravel road transforms into silky smooth tarmac all the way back. Tyres feel fine. No change in steering.

Seeing a man walking with a trolley, stop to have a chat. Realise it’s the camper whose tent I saw yesterday on the way up to Deadhorse. He’s Matias Tartiere. A Brasilian walking the world over two and a half years. He started in Turkey and walked through Europe to Morocco. Then started at Prudhoe Bay and walking all the way down to Ushuaia, at the southern end of Argentina, and from where I’ve come from. From there he will then fly to Asia and walk all the way across Asia and down to Cape Town. Google ‘matias tartiere the walk around the world’ and you’ll see his trip.

And I thought I was doing a big trip.

Such is my confidence that the tyres are OK and it is a sensor issue, make a detour to Wiseman.

Founded at the turn of the 19th century, Wiseman is a former gold mining settlement and a nice quirky little place. Couple of small accommodations, husky dog kennels can be seen as you enter. A reminder of life below zero. Very quiet and peaceful small village. Even has a grass strip runway with a solitary single engine light aircraft. Most of the houses appear to be old fashioned log cabins. It’s a great little place. Seeing a sign for local jewellery and crafts follow the road and meet up with Nikki, the jeweller. Invited inside her house she shares with husband Jack. Wow. What an interesting couple and an interesting place. For the first time, I get a feel for the real Alaska. Being in a real Alaskan home, with real Alaskan people. Made very welcome. Most ‘Alaskans’ I’ve met thus far are not from Alaska.

Shown some jewellery which is centred on locally shot coyotes. And the teeth thereof. Not convinced that my nieces would be prepared to go out dancing and romancing with a coyote tooth necklace, I purchase one myself as a souvenir.

Jack is cutting up moose steaks for dinner. Nikki shot the moose last November and the photos of it make you realise how big a moose really is. Jack has lived here since he was 13 years old and latterly used to operate hunting trips in the area. Now it’s all subsistence hunting and living off the land. A small vegetable patch has recently been planted for the crops to be harvested later in the year. A small trapdoor in the kitchen floor opens up to reveal a larder which remains at 2C to 8C because of the permafrost. The potatoes they’re having for dinner were harvested last year and stored.

Jack maintains the Wiseman museum. A small log cabin full of interesting local artefacts. It’s a fascinating place.

Wiseman is a bit of a find. Jack has also whet my appetite for an aurora trip next winter. Wiseman sits at 67deg North, which is directly beneath the high intensity aurora ring. The photos he shows me are stunning and he describes the magical moment when it was pitch black outside one winter when suddenly the aurora lit up the sky and the green glow reflected off the surrounding snow.

Sounds amazing.

Back at Coldfoot Camp again. Time for a celebratory beer. Am joined by two bikers, who remind me of the Hairy Bikers from BBC TV. They’re travelling up from Minnesota to Atigun Pass then back down to Las Vegas to meet their wives. Really enjoyable evening with a few beers to celebrate. Nice to be in company with similar views on life.

Thanks lads!

Great end to a great day.

One of life’s great days.

Of which there have been many on this trip.

158. The Dalton Highway

Leave a Reply

Wednesday, 29 May 2019

Coldfoot (the middle of nowhere), Alaska, USA

 

Now the real adventure starts. Four days of driving the infamous Dalton Highway through the wilderness.

1,000 miles there and back along a dirt and gravel road.

You’ll have heard of the TV series, ‘Ice Road Truckers’.

Well.

This is the road.

Pick the hire car up. A specially prepared vehicle for gravel highways. Not one but two spare wheels. Heavy duty tyres. CB radio.

Oh yes. CB radio.

Breaker, breaker, that’s a big 10-4.

Smokey and the Bandit stuff.

Instructed that Channel 19 is the emergency channel. In the event of breakdown in the middle of nowhere this can be used to call for help. There is no phone signal for 500miles.

Need to buy emergency rations. Just in case. A dozen cobs. Peanut Butter. Jam. 4 Snickers. 12 bottles of water. Should suffice.

Check out woman at Safeway hears my English accent and tells me she was in London recently. Then Rome. Then Cyprus. Then Missouri, USA.

Why, I ask.

“Middle age crazy!”, she replies.

And off we go.

The final 500 miles of this Antarctica to Alaska trip.

Shall be out of contact for four days. Hence the delay in blogs.

First 70 miles is tarmac roads along the Elliot Highway.

And then.

The main event.

On to the Dalton Highway.

416 miles on a mix of gravel, dirt, tarmac and rocky roads to Deadhorse.

Also known as the ‘Haul Road’.

Built in the 1970s to access the oilfields at Prudhoe Bay and the Trans Alaska Oil Pipeline, which runs alongside the highway.

Staggeringly scenic.

This is wild Alaska.

As soon as the Dalton Highway starts, the road surface changes to scraped and compacted soil. Quite good condition and reasonably smooth. Then changes to tarmac. Then gravel. Then scraped and compacted soil. Then it starts raining. Just a shower. But enough to make the soil turn to light mud and slightly slippery. Car is now covered in mud.

Phone signal has gone.

FM radio signal has gone.

Middle of nowhere.

Truly in the wild now.

First fuel stop at Yukon River Camp. Adjacent the Yukon River bridge, where the road and pipeline come together to cross the 600m wide river. The fuel station is basically a fuel pump attached to a massive fuel tank. You have to take a photograph of the fuel display to show them in the shop how much you have used. The Yukon River Camp is a former road workers’ camp accommodation block, now used for pipeline and road maintenance crews as well as tourists.

Rain clouds have now cleared and it’s a beautiful blue sky day. Time to crack open the peanut butter. Not had peanut butter sandwiches since the 1980s when at school. A splosh of jam as well. Peanut butter and jam is a ‘thing’. Right?

Really good progress and the road conditions are not as bad as I feared. Although one section of tarmac road is like a minefield of potholes and substantially worse than the dirt and gravel road sections. So much so, that I can’t wait to get back on the dirt road again as it’s smoother.

Takes 6hrs to drive the 260 miles from Fairbanks to Coldfoot, including stops. They say a picture paints a thousand words so you’ll have to look at the photos below to see the scenery seen enroute. Must stress though that the photos don’t do it justice. You have to see it with your own eyes. It’s magnificent being out in the wild. Stunning vistas. Just me and the car. And nothing much else.

Pass a sign saying ‘Arctic Circle’ north of Yukon River Camp. However. Have it in my head that the Arctic Circle is north of Coldfoot, so assume this is just a settlement called ‘Arctic Circle’. It’s only when I reach Coldfoot that I realise the error of my ways and make a note to stop at the Arctic Circle sign on the way back.

Like Yukon River Camp, Coldfoot Camp is the former roadworkers’ camp accommodation from the 1970s. The main building has a post office, dining, shop and bar. Very friendly staff.

But fuel is the most important thing. At $5.50/gallon, it’s the most expensive I’ve seen in America. And more than double what I paid in Florida.

But.

Hobson’s Choice.

It’s the only fuel stop for the next 240 miles to Deadhorse and my final destination Prudhoe Bay. Car is averaging 20mpg and told it should do 300 miles on one tank. Inshallah.

Across the way is the accommodation block. An establishment of old fashioned site huts connected together. Each ‘site hut’ is a bedroom consisting of twin beds, wash basin and shower/toilet cubicle boarded off from the bedroom by a bare wooden partition.

The Four Seasons Istanbul it is not.

This is basic.

But.

Very clean.

Very comfortable.

Once the biggest mosquito I have ever encountered is killed.

Flipping ‘eck.

Will be lathered in mozzy rep tonight. Plus the plug in Raid mozzy killer. Also have a mozzy net in my bag. Having carried it all the way but so far unused.

Across the road from the camp is the Coldfoot visitor centre. An interesting place and surprised to see so many staff for such a small place. Very friendly.

No phone signal here and no wifi (apart from an expensive dodgy satellite connection which may or may not work). Dinner and Kindle it is then.

Minding my own business when a 60 something Kiwi couple walk in.

They recognise me.

They were on the Noordam cruise ship. We did an excursion together in Juneau apparently. Can’t remember them but play along.

Even they were moaning about the old folk on the cruise ship. They flew to Prudhoe Bay and now on a bus tour down to Fairbanks. Taken them 12hrs to drive from Prudhoe Bay. Straight talking Kiwi bloke simply says, “6hrs of driving and 6hrs of getting old folk on and off the bus for a photo!”

Beautiful blonde young waitress serves up beer and food. Very friendly, bright and cheery. Ask if it’s possible to take a beer back to room. It’s not.

She says, “You’ll just have to have stay here with me.”

Oooh.

 

161. Back to civilisation

1 Reply

Saturday, 1 June 2019

Fairbanks, Alaska, USA

 

Decent sleep considering the black out curtains weren’t that blackout and there’s daylight in my room at 0300hrs.

The mechanic’s workshop is open so do a quick tyre pressure check to see if any have deflated overnight. They haven’t.

The workshop was closed last night when I arrived, so an elderly gentleman with a real puncture was using the air feed to pump up his tyre. Borrowed his tyre pressure gauge last night but as soon as he gave it to me, could tell it was a cheap lightweight plastic effort. The sort you’d give your kid as a toy for his little go kart.

What I needed was a proper heavy duty tyre pressure gauge. That worked. And gave you a reliable measurement. You know. The sort your Dad would have in his glovebox in the 1970s to check the tyre pressures on the Austin Maxi.

And one I hope to inherit.

So no deflation overnight means that it must be a sensor issue. Phew.

Can continue on my way, safe in the knowledge the tyres aren’t suddenly going to go pop. All Nigel Mansell like in the Australian Grand Prix 1986. The only thing to worry about is the ever increasing crack in the windscreen.

Good progress again back the way I came. But. Seeing scenery from a different perspective once again makes for compelling viewing and frequent stops for photos. A selection of which are below.

This time I do make sure to stop at the Arctic Circle. 66deg 33’ North. In the middle of nowhere so expecting it just to be me and the wilderness. Miles from anywhere.

Oh no.

Somewhat surprised to see that it’s a hive of activity. A lot of women in high vis vests mooching around. And a Inter Agency Land Ranger. The women are volunteers clearing up rubbish along the Dalton Highway. They collected 13 tons of debris last year. There’s great interest in my trip and am presented by the Land Ranger with a ‘Crossing the Arctic Circle’ certificate. Photos are taken. A quick 2min stop turns into 20mins. They’re an enjoyable and lively group. Well done girls!

Fuel and lunch stop again at Yukon River Camp. Meet the elderly Swiss couple again. We met and exchanged pleasantries, in German, at the very start of the Dalton Highway on Wednesday. They only went as far as Atigun Pass though.

Soon though, it’s the end of the Dalton Highway. 416 miles of amazing and varied landscape.

An amazing road.

An amazing drive.

One of the best drives I’ve done.

Parallels with the start of the trip too. Driving through remote southern Patagonia with nothing for hundreds of miles. Managing fuel. Driving from the colder climate to a warmer climate. Snow capped mountains. Flat featureless plains. Wind. Rain. Sun. Blue sky. No radio signal. No phone signal.

Back on the Elliott Highway, it’s only 70 miles to Fairbanks. One stretch of about 10 miles takes 1hr to do though because of roadworks and the need to wait and then follow an escort vehicle. Very slow going.

And then. Finally. The first signs of civilisation.

Post boxes.

Telegraph poles.

4G phone signal.

FM radio signal.

Had quite got used to the remoteness and the wilderness.

Refreshing and detoxing.

Before returning to Fairbanks, there’s one small place I must visit.

The North Pole.

Yes. There’s a small town called ‘North Pole’. Has a Christmas feel to it as you drive down Santa Claus Way. The street lights are even Christmassy. Designed and painted to look like candy sticks.

One of the conditions of the hire car is that I have to return it washed and clean of mud. There’s a lot of mud to get rid of. Can I find a car wash. Can I ‘eck. The one car wash that is close to the hire company is shut.

As UK readers will know. If you want your car washing in the UK, you only have to drive a mile or so and there’ll be a gang of Romanians with bucket and sponge ready to wash your car for you.

This hasn’t quite caught on in Alaska and takes half an hour to find a car wash. But it’s a self service pressure washer truck wash.  You pull into a ‘garage’ open at both ends to drive in and drive out. Consequence of which is that there’s nowhere for the spray to disappear to. It’s all contained by the sides of the garage about 2ft from the car.

So you can imagine how speckled with mud I get as I pressure wash the car myself. Now more muddy than the sodding car. It’s everywhere. Boots, jeans, coat, hands, face, hair.

Celebratory meal required now that I have truly survived the Dalton Highway. The Thai Red Chicken Curry I had the other night was so good, I return. For more. They’re pleased to see me again. No, really. An excellent curry and told they’re open tomorrow too. It’s a date. With the beautiful young Thai girl.

There’s more than one drunken Eskimo I pass enroute. Seems to be an area of social housing I’m passing through. One Eskimo is upset. He’s in the middle of the street shrieking obscenities at no one. Someone’s got decking and a balcony he doesn’t like. Pace is quickened as I walk by.

Don’t want to get harpooned.

159. Ice Road Truckers

Leave a Reply

Thursday, 30 May 2019

Deadhorse, Alaska, USA

 

Bright blue sky. Just what I need. Do not want any rain for a few days. The dirt roads will be a nightmare.

First 35 miles to Dietrich is brilliant tarmac road. Smooth as silk.

Then it gets nasty. Following the river, the road is very rocky. Not gravel. Small rocks. Jagged looking rocks. Concerned for tyres. It’s just asking for trouble.

See a small tent located on the river bank. Miles from civilisation. Can’t see owner so continue. I’ll meet the owner tomorrow on the way back. An interesting meet and greet.

Travelling along the river valley with forests and snow capped mountains either side. The blue sky showcasing northern Alaska in all its glory. This is the true Alaska. Away from the hordes of cruise ship tourists.

This is true wilderness.

Me.

The car.

The road.

The pipeline.

Awesome.

Quite a few trucks rumbling past. Spewing up clouds of dust and gravel. Discretion being the better part of valour it’s a necessity to stop and pull over out of the way. Even so, one big stone comes flying towards me and creates a big chip in the windscreen. Soon grows into a small crack. Which soon grows into a crack at the princely sum of $500 upon returning the car. Sod it.

The snow capped mountains increase in intensity and height when approaching the Brooks Mountain range. The natural barrier before reaching the north slope and the Arctic tundra. First have to negotiate the 4,800ft Atigun Pass. It’s OK in a car. But following a very slow moving truck. Can’t believe the trucks negotiate this in winter when it really is the ‘Ice Road’.

The Dalton Highway is open throughout the year. Summer is dirt and gravel. Winter is snow and ice. As seen on ‘Ice Road Truckers’. My taxi driver in Seward a few days ago told me that when he was an Ice Road Trucker, the longest he got stuck was 9 days in a snow drift. The truckers have to pack for every eventuality and often travel in convoy with a maintenance truck to do running repairs.

Stunning views as I cross over the Atigun Pass and into the valley below. This is the point of no return. Have to continue on to Deadhorse for fuel now. Half decent gravel road deteriorates into severe washboarding. Teeth chattering washboarding road. Which continues for miles.

Having not seen any wildlife yet, nice to see some muskox gathered in the river valley below. Like bison but smaller.

Cannot begin to describe the scenery. Once again the photos below don’t do the magnificent vistas I see any justice whatsoever. Like Antarctica, you have to see it with your own eyes to take it all in.

Simply spectacular.

Once out of the Brooks Mountains the landscape gradually changes to flat Arctic tundra. With no features whatsoever. Nothing to see but flatness.

The gravel road runs along a built up causeway for 50 miles all the way into Deadhorse. As you will see from the video below, it’s mind numbing. Low grey cloud melds into the grey tundra landscape. The grey gravel causeway running through it.

Weather has also changed north of the mountains. Low grey cloud now rather than the blue sky. The car is brilliant. Taken a real battering the past 500 miles. The roads are not kind to the tyres and the suspension. But it’s solid, sturdy and steady as she goes.

Finally.

After 5.5hrs and 240 miles.

Arrive Deadhorse.

The end of the Dalton Highway.

The end of the public road.

But not the end of the road.

No.

I have to wait until tomorrow for that pleasure and the ‘official’ end of my Antarctica to Alaska journey.

For those that haven’t been to Deadhorse, and I guess that’s all of you reading this, it is essentially one big construction site. Built to support the oilfields being drilled in Prudhoe Bay, Deadhorse is full of plant and machinery. Full of engineering materials. Full of drilling rigs. Full of site establishment. Full of storage buildings. Full of maintenance workshops.

The Cotswolds it isn’t.

Oh.

And it’s minus 3C.

With a windchill of about minus 10C.

So quite warm.

I kid you not.

When I was in Antarctica in December, the temperature in Deadhorse was around minus 30C.

Just think about that for a moment.

Minus 30C!

Accommodation is in worker’s camps that let out rooms for travellers. Having seen some of the other ‘hotels’ in town, am I glad I’m staying at the best in town, the Aurora Hotel (http://theaurorahotel.net/). Relatively new, about 10 years old, once again it’s a series of what can best be described as glorified site huts connected together to form sleeping accommodation, restaurant, laundry, reception, offices and meeting rooms.

Being used to working on construction project sites, it’s like a busman’s holiday.

Check in with the site secretary. Most site secretaries I know are quite ferocious. They have to be. But this young lady is nice and friendly. A welcome change. Told that I’m in her female boss’ bedroom. Told not to worry if I see clothes and personal belongings. She’s on leave for a couple of weeks.

The room is clearly a ‘Management’ room. Quite large, desk, lounge chair, ensuite, writing desk, wardrobe. Fridge. Chest of drawers.

Not since staying at the Jury’s Croke Park Hotel in Dublin have I slept in the most comfortable hotel bed. So good.

Dinner is in the ‘restaurant’. Think upmarket site canteen. I say upmarket. It’s got a carpet. As you can imagine. The lesser spotted TT sticks out like a sore thumb. Not hairy. Not tattooed. Not wearing a baseball bat. Not eating a plate piled high with food.

Despite it being a buffet, dinner is excellent and look out over an ice covered lake. The sun shining brightly even at this late hour. 24hr daylight as it is now.

No alcohol policy in Deadhorse. Easy to understand why. Getting a load of blokes working away from home in hardship conditions, nothing to do at night, working long hours, 6 months of daylight, 6 months of darkness, is a toxic mix with alcohol. I know colleagues who have lived on camps on construction projects. Some of them have felt suicidal.

However.

It may be that a bottle of Jameson’s whiskey found its way into my rucksack.

And it may be that a little nightcap was in order to celebrate making it this far.

A small toast to the thousands of miles travelled thus far and the last remaining few miles to the Arctic Ocean tomorrow.

Cheers.

156. Letting the train take the strain

Leave a Reply

Monday, 27 May 2019

Fairbanks, Alaska, USA

 

Jump in taxi to railway station. Young lad taxi driver says, “Ah, I’ve just dropped off some people at the station with your accent.” Really, I say. Where were they from?

Australia.

A tip is not forthcoming.

Video chat with my youngest niece. Except she’s not so young now. 18th birthday today. Where has the time gone. Happy Birthday!

Board the Denali Star train on the Alaska Railroad. A 12hr journey to Fairbanks through some stunning scenery. Am in a Gold Star carriage. With all the elderly cruise ship tourists. Breakfast, lunch, dinner and drinks included in the price. Soon after departing the breakfast service starts. Sat with a 30 something Doctor from Dallas and an elderly American couple. Doctor Dallas is a big broad lad. I too am big and broad. The bench seats aren’t that wide. Am hemmed in between window and doctor. We’re squashed together like peas in a pod. An uncomfortable breakfast.

Breakfast conversation turns to elderly American couple discussing their medical history with newly acquainted doctor. Not what I want whilst eating reindeer sausages.

There’s a lot of trees enroute. And I mean a lot. There must be billions of trees. Pleasant few hours trundling through the amazing Alaskan scenery and snow capped mountains. A highlight is travelling over Hurricane Gulch bridge, with a river in the canyon below. The benefit of travelling Gold Star is that there’s an open observation gallery on the top deck, which affords great opportunities for photography. When there’s a space at the front. Necessitates leaning over little old ladies for a quick photo at times.

Still very full from breakfast, lunch is served only a few hours later. Placed next to Doctor Dallas again but I box clever and make sure I sit on the aisle side to at least have some breathing room on one side.

Having been quite fresh as we left Anchorage it gradually becomes warmer the further north we travel. The best scenery is skirting around the eastern edge of Denali National Park. It’s sensational scenery. Many people disembark the train at Denail to spend a few days in the lodges there, especially all the cruise ship tourists on their cruise extensions. What goes off comes on and a new batch of cruise ship tourists board.

For some inexplicable reason, am tempted by a Bloody Mary cocktail at 1600hrs. Last time I had a Bloody Mary was travelling the Trans Siberian in 2010. It was disgusting then. And it’s disgusting now. Note to self, no more Bloody Marys.

Still full from breakfast and lunch, early dinner is served. Lessons have been learnt from breakfast and lunch. Make sure I’m the last to enter the dining car and grab a table that is completely free and dine in space. Bliss.

Minor commotion with a cruise ship tourist. She’s ordered a Caesar Salad. Train has run out of Caesar dressing. So it’s just a salad. Oh boy. She’s not happy. Waiter apparently exacerbates the situation by the way she perceives he handled the ‘situation’. Dinner over we all head back to the upper lounge deck. But she’s got it on her. She’s making a crisis out of a drama. She’s small, gobby and has attitude. And she’s clearly had a few cocktails. She’s not the petite type either. You know the sort. The Supervisor is called. An inquest ensues. She doesn’t like the way the waiter talked to her. She wants to make a formal complaint. Deary me. Discussion with Supervisor takes 20mins over the small matter that there was no Caesar dressing for her sodding salad. Supervisor leaves her to stew and she carries on moaning with her coven of female friends for the next hour. The culmination of which is that she’s now ‘distressed’. She’ll be claiming for counselling next. In the words of Rene, from British TV series ‘Allo ‘Allo, “You stupid woman!”

Landscape has changed substantially now. Much flatter. Pass an old trapper’s cabin dating back to the turn of the 19th century. Stuck in the middle of nowhere. A decaying log cabin with memories of a former life. Apparently the old furs still hang inside along with the furniture.

Big mosquitoes hovering outside the train windows as the train enters Fairbanks. Mrs Cincinnati has said they’re the State Bird of Alaska. She’s not wrong. Actually very warm, even at 2000hrs.

Taxi to the Springhill Suites by Marriott (https://www.marriott.com/hotels/travel/faish-springhill-suites-fairbanks/). Do you remember the Dukes of Hazard? Do you remember Uncle Jesse Duke? Do you remember the long grey beard? Do you remember the blue dungarees? Do you remember the pot belly? Do you remember the baseball hat?

Well, his Fairbanks cousin is driving the taxi.

Told that I can expect potholes the size of a bath when I drive the Dalton Highway.

Jolly good.

157. Drunken Eskimo

Leave a Reply

Tuesday, 28 May 2019

Fairbanks, Alaska, USA

Grab a coffee in the hotel breakfast room as the waitress is clearing up the breakfast service. She says something to me about the coffee. Can hear an accent. Ask where she’s from.

Alba. Is the reply.

She means Scotland.

Ask her where from. Meaning where in Scotland.

Alba. Is the reply. Again.

Ask her where from. Meaning where in Scotland.

Alba. Is the reply. Yet again.

Is it me?

It’s going to one of those days at this rate.

The simple route it has to be. Have to expressly ask her where from in Scotland.

Ah. Glasgow.

Am told that all Scottish people call Scotland ‘Alba’.

No.

They.

Don’t.

Having worked in Scotland, having travelled in Scotland, having worked with many Scottish people around the world, not one has ever used the term ‘Alba’.

She’s not impressed. Clearly has a little chip on her shoulder. Probably a Scottish Nationalist.

Chucking it down with rain so catch up on self service laundry and travel planning the next few weeks.

Which involves a new and exciting development, dear reader.

Having been to the southernmost point of the continental USA, in Key West, have decided to fly to the northernmost point. Point Barrow. Google it. You’ll see where it is. Might as well whilst I’m here. Doubt I’ll be back any time soon, if at all.

In other news.

Rather than flying back to Seattle from Anchorage, as originally anticipated, am taking another cruise ship cruise back to Vancouver.

By coincidence, the most suitable departure date from Seward is a Holland America cruise again. Not the Noordam though. The sister ship Westerdam.

Really don’t want to go home. Delaying the inevitable jolt back to reality as much as I can.

Walk through the silent streets of Fairbanks for lunch. Where is everyone? Hardly any traffic in downtown.

The only people staggering the streets are drunken Eskimos.

Fairbanks doesn’t have an awful lot to amuse the visitor. There’s a reason you don’t hear of people saying, “Oooh, we had a lovely weekend break in Fairbanks.” There’s an air of decay about the place.

Pop into the ‘Ice Museum’, set in an old 1940s theatre which appears to have been neglected over the years. Not really a museum. More a collection of ice sculptures in a refrigerated room set at minus 6C. Does have an aurora film though. This is excellent. Some stunning photography and film footage of the aurora. Despite an interest in astronomy, have never seen the aurora and it remains on my bucket list. Eskimo and his small child enter the aurora film late and make as much noise as possible settling in. Child then proceeds to make a racket running up and down the aisle, moaning that he’s bored. Eskimo Dad fails to take the hint from a few shushes from other guests. Ignorant, disrespectful lot.

In addition to the ice sculptures, is an ice slide. My inner chimp says to try it. Hurtling down I think I’m going to crash into the corner of a wall at the end. But miss it by inches. Museum curator shows me the slight kink in the ice slide that shoves the sled away from the brick wall at the last minute. Clever design.

Given a brief demonstration of ice sculpting by a Chinese ice sculptor. Takes a drill and drills various holes in a block of ice to create an intricate flower design. A group of Australians sitting behind me are trying to work out what he’s making. My Rolf Harris impression of, “Can you see what it is yet?”, fails to register.

Maybe they’re Kiwis.

For some reason there’s a lot of Thai restaurants in Fairbanks. One of which, the Thai House restaurant, serves up the best Red Chicken Curry I’ve ever had. Anywhere. Superb food.

Still daylight at midnight.

Won’t see darkness for a while now.

155. Earthquake

Leave a Reply

Sunday, 26 May 2019

Anchorage, Alaska, USA

 

Absolutely chucking it down. All day. Quick trip on the cable car up to the top of the mountain that I can see from my bedroom window. The views would be magnificent were it not for the rain. Can just about make out the fjord down below through the low cloud. Up at 2,300ft, there’s still plenty of snow. But there’s nothing to see as all the trails are closed. Quick lunch and then back down the mountain.

Only a short drive to Anchorage following the fjord coast. Can hardly see across to the other side, such is the dreadful weather. Drop hire car off at the airport and then taxi into downtown. Taxi driver is Somalian. Why on earth would a Somalian want to come and live in Alaska. From somewhere nice and hot and sunny to somewhere that’s not?

Arrive Anchorage mid afternoon and check in to The Voyager Inn (https://thevoyagerinn.com/). Room is cold but that’s because the room thermostat is set to 50F. Increased to 80F to warm it up on this very cold day. But. The room doesn’t warm up. Vent grille is still churning out cold air. Ring reception and ask how to get warm air. He says, “Well, because it’s summer now, it’s only cooling. You won’t get heat now.” So then I ask how to stop the vent fan. At least that will stop cold air being dispersed. The vent fan controller only has three options. High. Medium. Low. He says, “It’s not immediately obvious but you need to put the switch between medium and low.” No. It’s not ‘immediately obvious’. It’s not obvious at all.

Another half hour passes and the room is getting colder. Ask for an electric heater. Am given something that resembles a ray gun that could have been a prop in the Flash Gordon TV series.

Have to be up at 0630hrs in the morning but still awake at 0200hrs. It’s then that I feel the earth move. Quite literally. My body is gently rocking in bed.

It’s a faint earthquake.

Oooh.

154. Panning for gold

Leave a Reply

Saturday, 25 May 2019

Alyeska, Alaska, USA

 

Planning on panning at Prospector John’s after a short drive from Cooper Landing. For $20 you could get lucky and find that elusive nugget of gold. It’s a gold panning shop where they teach you how to pan for gold. The soil is brought from a creek about 5 miles away. Fill your bucket and you’re good to go. First pass of the soil is in a scrubber consisting of rubber washboard and sponge sections. Put a trowel full of soil at the top and the water flows over it. Keep shaking so the soil, silt and stones wash over the washboard and sponge. Am told that in 20 years of doing this, no one has walked away without gold in their pockets. Today is no exception.

Takes about 20 minutes to do the first pass over the scrubbers. One trowel full of dirt at a time is shaken over the scrubbers. Sure enough, I see little flecks of gold in the washboard section. About half a dozen in total. Ooh the excitement. Like a big kid. Gold is 18 times heavier than water so it doesn’t wash off and stays in the washboard grooves.

After the first pass, the larger flecks of gold are removed by tweezers. The whole scrubber consisting of washboard and sponges is then washed in a small bucket and the silt residue and water is placed in the pan. The sponges pick up the smaller gold ‘dust’. In the pan is a lot of silt. The trick is to wash this away in the pan and see if there are any flecks of gold. You’ll all have seen gold panning in the movies so you know how it goes. Great fun, and I admit it, like being a kid again, but after all that hard work only one small fleck of gold is discovered in the silt. It’s added to my haul.

Told that each fleck of gold is about 75 cents.

Now have enough to buy a coffee. Just as well, as it’s now chucking it down with rain.

The thinner the flecks of gold, the further away from the main seam they would be. The geological movement over millions of years squeezes the gold through the various layers of rock and flattens it. What I have is quite sold flecks rather than them being gold plate thin.

Adjacent the panning place is a roadside diner. Typical Alaskan diner full of locals. Great place and great vibe. Great prospector’s breakfast. Now that I’m a gold prospector.

Sadly, the heavy rain stops seeing snowy scenery enroute to Alyeska. Brief stop at the Alaska Wildlife Centre. An open air type farm park that you drive around to admire the animals in their large pens. But instead of the usual farm animals there’s bears, moose, caribou, bison and reindeer. The brown bears put on a good display and get close to the fence. At one point, one of the bears is about 4ft away from me. Separated by an electric fence fortunately. An impressive animal and glad I’m not coming face to face with it in the wild. You can tell how hard and heavy the rain is as you can see it on the photos below.

Arrive at the Hotel Alyeska (https://www.alyeskaresort.com/hotel), a ski resort, which is out of season. Mrs Cincinnati has recommended the Asian restaurant for dinner. Have been looking forward to Asian cuisine all day. Even so far as checking out the menu online. So you can imagine my disappointment when I discover it’s closed. Given that it’s a 300 room hotel and it’s pretty full this Memorial holiday weekend, you would think there would be more dining options. Sadly not. Just the Aurora bar and restaurant. Bar is full. Restaurant has two tables empty. Approach the young lad maitre d’ at the door. With his table plans and reservations list. Ask for a table for one. He looks around the restaurant, sees, as I do, two vacant tables and replies that there are no seats available. He can put me on the wait list but it will be 30mins at least. There’s one 4 seat table by the window and a 2 seat table near the entrance. Ask why I can’t sit at the window table. Erm, it’s reserved, Sir. Can immediately tell he’s lying. Can’t be doing with people lying to me. One of my pet hates. He just doesn’t want to give up a 4 seat table to a single diner. What about that 2 seat table. Erm, it’s reserved for a big group.

But it’s a 2 seat table.

Pause.

Erm, yes, erm it will be added to another table to make a bigger table. Can tell he’s lying about that too.

Brace myself for a short wait until a table becomes free. But I’ll just hover by the entrance pretending to read the menu to see what happens. About a minute later a couple of elderly women turn up and ask for a table. Hear him ask if they have a reservation to which they say no.

Cheeky sod then directs them to the 4 seat table by the window. Which winds me up. He returns to the front desk. We’re going to have a discussion. Now that I’m a bit tetchy at the way a single diner is being treated. In all my years of working and travelling around the world I have never had a problem as a single diner. I’ve often had the best seats in the house. But he’s taking the whatsit.

Challenged that they didn’t have a reservation and you put them on a table you told me was reserved. Head down refusing to look me in the eye, he ums and aahs and mutters something about he can’t give a 4 seat table to a single diner.

There’s still the 2 seat table free. Challenge him on that. Told it’s reserved. Stand back a few paces and hover, pretending to look at menu and walk a few paces to the adjoining bar to see if any seats have become free.

Walk back a few paces to hover near restaurant front desk. Have been away a matter of seconds. Maitre ‘d pipes up. OK, Sir, you can have this table, the 2 seat table. Thought you said it was reserved?! Um…aah…they’ve just rung to cancel. Idiot. He’s lying through his teeth. No one has rung him. Tetchy now.

Instead of a nice Asian dinner, it’s a poor pizza. Ask one of the waitresses passing by if they have any Tabasco and fresh black pepper, inferring that I would like them brought to the table. She says yes and just looks at me. Tetchy levels are increasing. We have to go through the next step. Would it be possible to have them then, I ask. She says yes. And then she goes to another table and deals with them. Pizza arrives and can tell waitress has forgotten all about my little request. So ask the kid who has bought the pizza to the table. Sure, no problem, and quickly returns with Tabasco and black pepper grinder. He then goes. Waitress then sees pizza on my table and can see that she’s suddenly realised she’s forgotten. So she comes with black pepper grinder. Not immune to a bit of black pepper she does a quick grind over my already peppered pizza. She buzzes off. Then my actual waiter turns up a minute later with a black pepper grinder asking if I’d like some. You can never have enough black pepper so it’s a yes. Now have a pizza absolutely covered in black pepper.

Once again, decide I’ll take a beer back to room and watch a bit of TV. It’s the same old rigmarole as last night. Have to be escorted back to room with waiter carrying beer on a tray. Which is then handed to me at my bedroom door. Told that because it’s dark for so many months in Alaska, there’s a lot of depression and alcoholism. Which is why the state regulates alcohol sales.

Am noticing that Alaska has a slightly different take on the famous American customer service that I’ve experienced in the lower 48, as the rest of the USA is known up here. There’s a slight edge to them as if they couldn’t give a toss. A slight indifference to the customer. Wonder if it’s because they’re primarily dealing with cruise ship tourists?

153. Land of the silver birch…

Leave a Reply

Friday, 24 May 2019

Cooper Landing, Alaska, USA

 

Late morning walk along one of the trails from hotel down to the river. The trail head recommends taking a stick from the box and to beware of bears. Off I go for a short leg stretch down the steep path leading to the river. The trail has a number of observation decks on the river to admire the views. Good views too.

Narrow path through the dense woods. Just the sort of place to be mauled by a bear. The advice is to make a noise as you walk. So as not to surprise the bears. Jolly good.

The only thing I can think of to make a noise is to…sing.

So.

There.

I.

Am.

All alone in the woods.

Singing. To myself.

I know.

It’s enough to scare the bears away.

The only suitable song I can think of is ‘Land of the silver birch’. Remember it from primary school days in the 1970s.

Except.

Can only remember two lines:

‘Land of the silver birch

Home of the beaver.’

So. It’s on repeat. As I walk through the bear infested woods.

Note to self. Ask piano teacher if she does singing lessons. Do you?

And then.

Some fellow walkers appear. They’re probably more concerned by the lunatic walking through the woods repeating, ‘Land of the silver birch, home of the beaver’ to himself, rather than being attacked by a bear.

An hour to kill, so have a quick drive into Cooper Landing. A blink and you’ll miss it sort of place. Not much to see or do especially as the ‘museum’ is closed. Local cemetery says enquire at the Post Office. As if to suggest something of interest is in there. Off I go. Meet the Postmaster and ask about the cemetery. “Eh? What? You’ll have to shout, I’m hard of hearing.”, he says. “I’M HERE ABOUT THE CEMETERY”, I shout. But he’s new and knows nothing. It was something to do with the old postmaster who has now left.

An afternoon of white water rafting down the Kenai River. I say white water. Sounds dangerous and impressive. But it’s only a little bit of white water in places. Not a raging rapid. All the hard work of rowing/steering is by a young millennial lad. Four guests and two from the rafting company. One of the other guests is a young girl, of about 20, from Tasmania. She’s cycling around Alaska. Like you do. In May. When it’s still cold. She’s wearing shorts and flip flops. I’m wearing three layers, waterproof coat, pashmina scarf wrapped around my neck, a woolly hat and two pairs of socks with boots on. It being a bit parky. It’s clear she hasn’t had a wash in weeks as there’s a distinct whiff of the unclean about her. Explains that she sleeps in a bivvy bag wherever she can. Bit feral. Her knees are cut and bloodied. Her nails are rugged and grimy. She’s just dirty. Like Eliza Doolittle, she needs a bloody good wash. She pulls at her hair under her beany bat as she chats with me and suddenly pulls out a huge clump of hair. Whoa. Where did that lot come from. Not a few strands of hair. A whole clump of hair.

It’s a pleasant two and a half hours floating down the turquoise river. Spotting a bald eagle and two eagle nests, told that that the first nest was built by Mr Eagle but then Mrs Eagle decided that it was too small and so Mr Eagle had to build a second and bigger nest in the adjoining tree.

Don’t see any bears though. It’s my one wish in Alaska to see a bear on the riverside fishing for salmon. But the salmon don’t arrive until about 10 June. They can pretty much tell the date the salmon will arrive. As they have every year. The river banks will then be full of fisherman catching salmon. However. There is a daily quota of three salmon per fisherman. Fisherman from Anchorage have been known to drive down after work, fish just before midnight and catch that day’s quota and then continue fishing after midnight to catch that day’s quota before driving back for work the following day. It’s quite a sight apparently to see hundreds of fisherman standing, quite literally, shoulder to shoulder fishing.

After an hour or so, the cold is getting to us all and as scenic as it is, the cold becomes a preoccupation. Coupled with sitting on a wooden board as a seat. Bum numb. Toes numb. Fingers numb. In need of a hot chocolate with whisky. Sadly, they forgot to pack that vital bit of survival kit.

The best sight of wildlife though is a baby moose on a shingle bank in the middle of the river. Just lying there. Only a few weeks old. Placed there by its mother for safe keeping as she goes off foraging, which could be for a few days. Baby moose has been there a few days now according to the guide. Such is the guide’s  excitement of showing us the baby moose we very nearly crash into a upturned tree stump in the middle of the river. Some very frantic and panicked rowing avoids a soaking for us all.

Quite glad to get into a warm bus and transfer back to the hotel. Have rafted 11 miles down river.

After dinner, decide I’ll take a beer back to room to watch a bit of TV in front of the log fire I can start in my log burner. Oh dear. What have I suggested. Now. Like most of you reading this, you will be based in Europe where the drinking laws are quite liberal. You can buy beer, wine and spirit most places. And drink it most places. If you were staying in a hotel, it would not be the slightest issue to get a drink at the bar and go back to your room to drink it. In fact, it’s normal to do that.

Well, dear reader. Alaska has a drink problem. Alcohol is strictly regulated. Hence the requirement for ID in liquor stores. I personally cannot take a small bottle of Heineken back to my room. Or even walk out of the bar into the corridor. No.

Instead. A hotel employee has to take the unopened bottle from the barman and escort me to my room, which, as it happens, means driving in the shuttle bus as she doesn’t want to waste time walking. Once in my room, she has to open the bottle and give it to me.

Bloody nonsense. I half joke that I’ll open the bottle in the shuttle bus, as she has the bottle opener to save her getting out. Deadly serious, she replies, “Well OK, just don’t tell my boss.”

Deary me.

152. Halibut in Homer

Leave a Reply

Thursday, 23 May 2019

Cooper Landing, Alaska, USA

 

Three hour drive down to the halibut capital of the world.

Homer.

A fishing port at the end of the Kenai Peninsula. There’s not much to see enroute apart from trees. Lots and lots of trees. Reminds me of Siberia. And northern Scandinavia.

And lots of roadworks. Told there are two seasons in Alaska. Winter. And construction.

A few towns along the way appear non-descript. You would probably only visit if you like hunting, shooting and fishing. Getting ready for the salmon season starting in a few weeks.

Homer’s small fishing port is at the end of a 4.5mile spit jutting out into Kachemak Bay. It’s where fishing boats from the TV programme, ‘Deadliest Catch’ sail from.

What else to have for lunch in the halibut capital of the world.

Halibut, of course.

With chips.

Very English seaside.

The spit houses a number of art galleries, craft studios and boutique shops. Well known local landmark, the Salty Dog Saloon dates back to 1897. There’s a cold bite in the air though, so not wanting to linger.

Stopping off at Soldotna on the way back, see some women wearing what appears to religious dress, bit like nuns. Long dress and a head covering. Realise they are part of the Russian Old Believer society that live in the region. Russia, obviously, being not too far away.

Also reminds me that it’s about nine years to the day that I was married to a Swiss girl of my acquaintance, in the Russian Old Believer’s traditional way, in the Buryat Republic in Siberia. You’ll have to wait for the retrospective blog on that trip. I know one of you reading this was witness to this unforgettable occasion.

Ah, the memories.