Our tentsite at Sanctuary Campground.
We arrived at the Sanctuary campsite around ten thirty. It was located a few hundred yards off the road so the "hike" in to the campsite was no problem and we got all our gear to the campsite in one trip.
Sanctuary Campsite is located a few feet from the Sanctuary River which is a typical Denali small sized river, about fifty feet wide, grey brown turgid water, swiftly moving. It flowed from the south and obviously originated at the base of the Alaska Range which, if we could have seen it, rose up twenty miles (or so) away. The campsite was located in a sizable grove of trees. It was deserted although several of the prepared campsites contained tents. There were perhaps a dozen tent sites, each fairly private and surrounded by trees. Each tent site had a picnic table and a little sign board onto which one clipped one's campsite reservation. There was a central collection of porta- potties (two or three) and a hefty food storage building, about six feet by eight feet. Water was available at a hose bib. There were stern warnings to put all foodstuffs into the food storage building. Near the road was a ranger's cabin but no sign of a ranger.
Our tentsite at Sanctuary Campground.
We had no planned activities and actually little concept of what to do now that we were here. That didn't bother us since we were quite tired and an unstructured day seemed quite luxurious. We set up the tent, stored our food, and decided to take a hike.
We started out on a small trail which paralleled the river. We had our camera and our fishing gear. The trail was littered with "scat", probably moose, and the trail itself was obviously an animal trail used occasionally by the Sanctuary campers. As we moved away from the campsite, the trees became more sparse and we were soon walking on open ground with a pretty good view of the nearby hills (mountains). It was really quite serene, very alone, and with little (if any) signs of humanity other than ourselves. Tory took some panoramic photographs. Even the bugs were respectful of us and posed no problem that the Deet couldn't handle. The day was warm with little breeze. This was the closest that we had come, thus far, to Arctic wilderness.
We stopped at a few little streams that, unlike the main river, were clear, but found no interest in our lures. After half an hour, and perhaps one mile, the trail petered out. Since we had no experience in off-trail hiking, and we had gotten a feeling of the spirit of the place, we turned around and returned to the campsite stopping off for some more unprofitable fishing in the main river.
A little stream winding through the
tundra.
We made our usual lunch sandwiches and found a shady secluded river side nook and ate lunch and soaked in the beauty, serenity, and our good fortunes. After lunch Tory spent quite a lot of time with her water colors capturing the feelings of our riverside location.
I can't remember now (six months later) the details of how we spent all our time in Sanctuary, probably reading, napping, writing in our diaries, drawing. But there was not a moment of boredom. It was pure contentment.
Tory had a particular way with colors
and patterns. This outfit was designed to repel grisly bears.
In the late afternoon, our solitude was interrupted by loud voices speaking in German. We talked to the origin, a family of Swiss hikers. We noticed that a big percentage of the visitors in Denali (perhaps 20 percent) and a majority of the hikers were Europeans and mostly Swiss.
As the evening progressed, the campsite filled up (but it obviously never got very busy with only 12 campsites). We made dinner and retired early. For some reason, Tory and I had little real contact with other people during our trip. For the most part we found sufficient stimulation in each other there wasn't a major need to seek conversation with others. Actually, on this trip, there was not that much opportunity to meet other travelers. I was surprised, actually, that in mid July there was so little aircraft camping activity. Although Denali was full of Winnebagos, there wasn't that much tourist activity in the few other places we visited, e.g. Fairbanks' Alaska Land was quite deserted, and the airplane camping grounds had little more than one or two planes in residence.
Another reason why we may not have much conversation with others was that we didn't fit a standard category, e.g. married couple, or family with children. It worried me somewhat, not without reason as Dawson would suggest, that people would take me for an old lecher taking advantage of an impressionable young girl. I always went to great pains to explain that "she's my daughter". Sure, sure.....
On Saturday morning we had set our travel alarm clock for an early wake up call. We made breakfast and did our morning toilet. There were little pockets of activity at the other campsites but it was subdued and in keeping with the spirit of the wilderness. We dismantled our campsite and made up our nine bundles and hiked out to the road.
The camping bus was right on time at 9:20. We produced our magic reservations and were allowed entry. The bus was full as it had been the previous day and loaded with camping gear in the rear. There was an especially large group of "serious" back packers with their food safes and ski poles. Most of them appeared to be European and very healthy looking.
It took 4 1/2 hours to go about the sixty miles to our destination, Wonder Lake campsite, the farthest away from the entrance in the park. However there were many stops and lots of sight seeing. The "tour" was much better as the PA system worked today.
The dirt road was in good condition but it was not wide. The trip was mostly a series of climbs and descents from one river valley to the next. As we proceeded west, the smoke got thicker.
We made several stops, the longest of which was at the Eielson Visitor's center which was about 60 miles from the entrance or about two thirds of the way from Sanctuary to Wonder Lake. We got there around noon. The Visitor's Center was a small museum, look out, rest stop, and ranger's station rolled into one. There was supposed to be a panoramic view of Mt. McKinley, Muldrow Glacier, and the Alaska range but is was totally obscured in the smoke.
Carabou at the Eleison Visators
Center. They tolerated the people in cxchange for protection from
the grisly bears.
On one side of the Visitors Center, we found a small herd of four caribou. We were told that they were totally wild but sought out the Visitors Center since it afforded protection from grizzly bears who avoided the Center and human contact. The caribou tolerated the gawking human visitors and the incessant picture taking since they were relatively safe from their principal predator. There were signs warning the visitors to keep clear.
As we progressed we saw lots of wildlife, most notably moose, beaver, birds, and a few Grizzly bears (all in the distance). The binoculars were indispensable for seeing everything. A telephoto lens on the camera would have been fantastic for capturing closeups of the wildlife and scenery. The close in scenery was also very beautiful: low brush, wild flowers, and tundra. Trees were almost totally absent. It was all very green except for the bottom of the valleys which were more like river beds than tundra. These were rocky and grey-brown. Braided river beds, very wide, were in every valley floor. The visibility was no more than five (or at most ten) miles.
We arrived at Wonder Lake Campground at about two o'clock in the afternoon. We were bussed out and hungry. Wonder Lake campsite was much bigger than Sanctuary, perhaps as many as one hundred tent sites. These were all laid out in the tundra about 30-40 feet from each other with a little path to each tent site. Each tent site was like a little island in a sea of tundra. Although you could see all of the other tent sites, it was not possible to get from one to another except across the tundra and walking on the fragile tundra was discouraged.
Our tentsite at Wonder Lake
Campground. Each tentsite was like a little island on a tundra
sea.
We got to examine the tundra close up. It is like thick moss, and very spongy. It was perhaps four inches thick and made up of intertwined plant life of all types. Of course there were small bushes too, but the principal vegetation was this low stuff.
We selected a tent site close enough to the latrine and food shed to be convenient but not so close that there was a lot of bothersome traffic. Our little "island" was about twenty feet on a side of built-up earth and stone with a picnic table and the ubiquitous sign post for the reservation slip. We set up the tent and made lunch. We settled in for an afternoon siesta (hey, its hard work riding on the bus).
Around four we arose and decided to go on a fishing expedition. We gathered together our rod and lures and hiked the half mile or so to the lake. The lake itself is quite large, perhaps two miles long and half a mile wide. It had a real lonely look from the shore. It is undeveloped for recreation (boating and housing) and the only sign of humanity was a few hundred yards of path in the tundra at the south end of the lake. The lake was rippled by the moderate breeze that seemed to be a feature of this place. A few hundred yards off shore was a family of ducks, two adults and three or four ducklings. We also saw some crane type birds hiding in the rushes to our right.
The weather was neither cold or hot, perhaps 68 degrees. The sky was gloomy with the smoke. One got the feeling that this place was having its short concession to summer but that in two months winter would be threatening and by October it would be brutal, wind, ice, snow, and little to eat.
We passed a young man who looked somewhat shaken who said he had encountered a Grizzly bear, at that very spot, a few minutes earlier. We took note of this fact, but for some reason probably ignorance, it made little impression on either of us.
We commenced "fishing". The lake was very shallow. In fact we were told that the entire lake was quite shallow which is a feature of lakes formed by glacier action. Sure enough, within a few casts the lure was stuck on a rock. Like Captain Hook, I made Tory walk the plank and wade out and release the hook. Actually, she was quite willing for the adventure but after the third time, she told me to do it myself. The water was surprisingly warm and ten feet from shore it still only came to my knees. Tory tried her luck, but we were not destined to have fish for dinner. In the process we lost two lures on the rocks.
Wonder Lake. Jonathan duals with a
big one (a big rock, that is).
We had enjoyed our outing. We returned to our campsite and lounged around till dinner time at about 8:00. It may seem to the reader that we did little while in Denali. That is true, in a sense, especially if you ignore getting around. The bus segments were major sensory input, very interesting, stimulating, and quite tiring. The rest of the time, we were just taking in the sights, just being there, feeling, watching, listening, thinking. Denali and Alaska are so different from normal everyday life, that just being in the middle of it will keep your mind occupied. It may seem that we were doing little, but we were fully occupied doing it.
At around nine o'clock, after dinner, we noticed that it seemed particularly gloomy. I commented on it and Tory, who looked up at the sun exclaimed that there was an eclipse in progress. Sure enough, about two thirds of the disk was covered. Since the sun was already somewhat obscured by the smoke layer, it was possible to give the sun a momentary glance. We got a pretty good look. The eclipse lasted about half an hour. After the excitement we turned in, mindful of another early day tomorrow.
Up at 6:30, coffee, breakfast, break camp, and walk to the bus staging area. We had a reservation on the first camping bus (8:00 am) all the way back to the Park entrance and Riley Campground. Was it really only two days ago that we first came to Denali?
The bus trip back was very interesting. The driver was a young man, very funny, a little flaky, and very knowledgeable about the region. We saw lots of animals: grizzly bears, elk, moose, wolf, etc. I think that is a function of the sharp eyes and knowledge of the driver. Sitting in front of us was the wife of the park pilot. We talked a little about flying in Alaska. It turned ut that she was the supervisor of all the bus drivers and our driver was nervous throughout the trip (6 hours) trying to do a good job and not screw up. He shared that with us after he dropped the lady off at the park headquarters.
Looking down on the tundra plain from
one of the many mountain passes while coming back from Wonder
Lake.
We arrived back at our Rent-a-Wreck. The car was untouched. I had left my wallet in the car with all our money and credit cards. What good would they have been in the park, right? Wrong. An obviously unattended rental car would be a very attractive target, I would think. And as soon as we had gotten on the bus two days earlier, I had nagging worries and wished I had had my wallet on my person.
We had been alerted that the Mercantile Exchange (convenience store) across from the park airport offered showers. So we went over there and had luxuriously unlimited showers and put on clean clothes.
The drive back to Fairbanks with the heater now off was a delight. We soon were back at the airport reclaiming our airplane, which incidently, I had left unlocked for the last two and one half days. I taxied down to the camping area while Tory followed up with the car. Within a few minutes we were set up snug as a bug in a rug.
Back at Fairbanks Airport unloading
our gear from our Rent-a-Wreck.
We saw across the campsite, the red Cessna 170 with the two old codgers we had met in Ft. St. John, BC. It shows that slow and steady works too.
We spent the evening at the laundry and doing shopping for our second week. We were back at the campsite by 10 pm at which point we had an abbreviated dinner and went to sleep.
I shared with Tory a fantasy I had been cooking up: to fly to Point Barrow the most northern point in Alaska and the northernmost city in North America. Much to my delight, she thought it would be a good adventure. So we made plans to leave in the morning, weather permitting.
As soon as coffee and breakfast were over, we drove down to the flight service station to check on the weather at Barrow. The plan was that we could fly to Barrow and return the next day to Arctic Circle Hot Springs, a resort with a famous hot spring and baths just south of the Arctic circle. However, it was not to be (today at least). We were disappointed to learn that the weather at Barrow was zero-zero (or nearly so) and the trip was not recommended. We consulted our list or places we wanted to go and considered our options.
It was decided that we would fly to Fort Yukon which is on the Yukon River just 12 miles north of the Arctic Circle. This would permit us to brag that we had landed above that arbitrary line. The guide books, incidently, in no way recommended Ft. Yukon as a tourist center. Then we would fly back to Arctic Circle Hot Springs and spend the night, in a hotel room if possible! The weather to Ft. Yukon looked satisfactory with reports of smoke in the area.
So Tory returned the car to Rent-a-Wreck while I disassembled the campsite and packed the plane. She was back at the campsite within an hour. We were ready to takeoff by about 9 am. Conditions at Fairbanks were good enough for a VFR takeoff, but just barely. We climbed up to 9,500 feet in order to get above the smoke and also to clear the 4,000 foot mountain range that lies to the north of Fairbanks.
We were pretty much in the clear at 8,500 feet but could hardly see the ground. As we flew north the higher terrain was just barely visible straight down. It was (like lots of terrain in Alaska) not very hospitable looking. The total distance to Ft, Yukon was 128 nautical miles or 147 statute miles. With climb, that ends up being about an hour in the air takeoff to touchdown.
Navigation was easy since both Fairbanks and Ft. Yukon have VORTAC stations that show bearing and distance to the station. About thirty miles from Ft. Yukon we began our letdown and reentered the smoke layers. Although it was technically VFR, it was solid instruments since there was no horizon and no ground contact until we were within 3,000 feet of the ground. I called up Ft. Yukon Unicom and announced my position and intentions to land.
There was no doubt that seeing the airport would be difficult. So I decided to follow the normal procedure for the VOR DME approach for runway 3, that is landing to the north east. So I kept my eyes riveted on the instruments and occasionally peeked outside to see if anything was visible. We descended to 1200 feet (about 800 feet above the ground) five miles out and preceded inbound on the specified heading. Soon we were over the Yukon River which is over two miles wide still looking for the airport on the opposite bank.
There was another factor affecting our approach. I had never landed Mike (the airplane) on an unpaved field. If fact, I rarely have ever used unpaved airports. We were, therefore, looking for an airport that had a very different appearance from what we were used to. Most hard surface runways stand out like a sore thumb. An unpaved airport is just another field. So as we descended lower we still didn't have the airport identified. The discussion with Tory about what we were seeing (or not seeing) became more terse as neither of us was able to confirm that there was an airport out there. Finally, it was indisputable that this big field off to the right was definitely suitable for a landing and if it wasn't the airport, tough. We touched down, thumpa thumpa, and crunched to a halt about halfway down the 5800 foot gravel runway.
We taxied back to the ramshackle hut that appeared to be the terminal building and stopped our engine. The sun was a brown disc in the smoky sky but it was still putting out lots of rays. In fact, it was quite hot. It did seem that the further north we went, the hotter it got, probably since there was no night to let things cool down. We stepped out into the spacious ramp, completely empty, and surveyed the array of low buildings and equipment. At the other end of the field there appeared to be some activity at a fire bomber staging area.
The three of us at Fort Yukon
Airport, north of the Arctic Circle. Photo taken by Ruth Post, a
member of a wildlife management team.
We walked into the "terminal" lobby which was about twenty feet square and were greeted by an attractive female airline ticket agent who was totally disinterested in us or Ft. Yukon and didn't seem to know anything or care. She worked for some commuter airline (name forgotten) and was scheduled to be airlifted back to Fairbanks on the afternoon flight which, she said, wouldn't be soon enough. She soon went back to her nails and we stepped out again into the hot sun.
At that point, a Bell Jet Ranger helicopter came into sight (and sound) and came in for a landing on the ramp about fifty feet behind Mike. Out hopped a pilot (khaki flight suit) and two scruffy personages who proceeded to start unloading a monumental pile of equipment and duffel bags. These two soon resolved themselves into a young man and woman, the man quite tall, and the woman of medium height, thin but attractive.
The man hobbled over first. He said he had terrible blisters on his feet. It turned out the two were seasonal employees for the U.S. Fish and Game Commission and they had been out in the "bush" for a month counting ducks. They were given a two mile square area (4 square miles) and told to count every duck in every puddle in the area. Since this area is fifty percent puddle, the job was very difficult. The purpose of the procedure is to estimate the duck population which determines how many duck hunting licenses will be issued in the US and Canada.
Tory struck up a conversation with the woman who told her the details of her job. Tory's eyes were getting bigger and bigger as the woman, whose name was Ruth Post, talked. It appeared that some occupational options were occurring to Tory.
Tory later wrote a letter to Ruth asking for more details and, in due course, got an informative and friendly reply. I have attached a copy of both letters to this diary since I think they ought to be part of the record. Ft. Yukon, Alaska-Fairbanks, Alaska (via Circle Hot Springs) (1.4 hours)
Having arrived, all that remained to do was to depart. We said our goodbys to the duck counters and started up Mike, and took off into the smoke. We set course for Arctic Circle Hot Springs another dirt strip 68 nm to the south east of Ft. Yukon. Expecting poor visibility, I had planned carefully our approach into Circle. I drew up an informal instrument approach based on the local NDB beacon. Since there were hills in the area, I did not need to be blundering around without knowing where we were. We climbed to 5,500 feet.
The visibility was definitely not improving in the smoke. We went through some areas of thick smoke that stressed our peace of mind, but we pressed on nonetheless. But then, quite suddenly, we were plunged into near total blackness. There was no doubt that these conditions were unacceptable and that the way ahead was blocked. Not only that, the smoke could not be doing the engine any good. I started a slow measured 180 degree turn to the left (blessing the HSI that makes it so easy to do an about face). Soon we were back to the normal marginal conditions and we took stock. We could fly to Dawson but that was in Canada and we were not on a flight plan requesting customs. The only other choice was a return to Fairbanks. Since we had not really seen Fairbanks, we decided that this was a good plan. We set course to Fairbanks and climbed to 8,500 feet.
We arrived back at Fairbanks International at about 1 pm. Conditions at Fairbanks had deteriorated below VFR conditions in our absence so we had to get a special VFR clearance into the control zone. After a quick lunch, we called a taxi and with guide book in hand, we set out to see the sights of Fairbanks.
The taxi took us to Fairbanks University which is on a high bluff overlooking the city. There is a well known museum at the university specializing in the natural history of the region. The high point of the museum is the once frozen mummy of an extinct Arctic Ox. There were many interesting displays on the flora and fauna, geology, native population and culture, gold rush and local history, and the Aurora Borealis. We both liked that sort of stuff and we found it interesting.
We stopped off at the student center for a soda. It was like any other college student center: bulletin boards, cafeteria, entertainment facilities, cafes for meeting and relaxing. The University did not arrear to be in session (it was July, after all) but there was still a lot of activity. By far the biggest beehive was a children's ballet class taking place in one of the big meeting rooms. The thirty or so boys and girls ages five through 15 were practicing what appeared to be a show in the latest stages of preparation. It was a bit of a surprise to see this activity in a "frontier town". It was very comforting that such activity exists in Alaska. The ballet itself, which appeared quite accomplished, brought tears to my eyes.
We consulted our guide book. The next big attraction in Fairbanks was Alaska Land. It sounded terrible to me but the brochure said that there was a Pioneer Air Museum with vintage airplanes from the early days of Alaska exploration. I will go anywhere to see an antique airplane.
The city bus stopped right in front of the student center and would take us right to Alaska Land. In fact, the bus was already there waiting since this was the beginning of the line. It left in a few minutes and the fifteen minute bus ride gave us a varied look at Fairbanks: modest business and residential areas, middle class, no big emphasis on growing things, sturdy rather than flashy, weather worn with a touch of poor.
Our first impression of Alaska Land was a disaster. The Pioneer Air Museum had, we were told, failed to get funding and would therefore not exist until next year, at the earliest. The drydocked river boat on display was a mass of peeling paint and advanced decrepitude. The place was practically deserted (it was by now nearly six pm) and it gave the impression of a down and out carnival. We were ready to depart and were glad that admission was, thus far, free. We decided to look around a little farther and maybe get a bite to eat.
The extrance to Alaska Land,
Fairbanks.
Tucked away in a corner of the site, were about thirty early Fairbanks houses (cabins really) that had been moved to Alaska Land and restored. These buildings formed a "main street" not unlike, I would imagine, the Fairbanks of 1900. Each house was either fixed up as a museum or as a retail establishment selling crafts, food, and the like. The furnished houses were particularly interesting and each one had a story. Most surprising was their small size, the largest was maybe fifteen feet by twenty feet with two stories. The whole effect of this area was one of quality, civic pride, and care. Very different from our initial impressions of a tacky theme park.
We took a few minutes off to listen to the obligatory recitation of the "Cremation of Sam McGee" by an apparent relic of the Gold Rush. We appreciated the telling and tipped accordingly.
We continued to wander around and came to the "Palace Theater" which was advertising a musical review at 8:30. The guide book said this was worthwhile so we made a reservation. We were told we would have two seats at the bar which was all that was left.
We took the opportunity to find some dinner and settled on a little restaurant that was serving Greek food. In Alaska? We ordered two gyros sandwiches and some stuffed grape leaves. The meal was, regretfully, quite forgettable.
We showed up at the Palace at the appointed time to find it nearly full of a mostly geriatric crowd, possibly from a bus tour. We were shown to our seats at the bar which in spite of being at the very back of the hall, offered an excellent view since we were two feet higher than anyone in front. Most of the other 150 or so patrons were seated at tables of from four to eight people. We witnessed one semi-elderly man having a hissy- fit because he was not seated at a table that suited his requirements. The usher patiently tried to reason with him, but he would not be consoled and demanded a refund (which was, I imagine, gladly given). There were a two young women serving drinks to the seated patrons as the crowd settled into readiness.
The show was a musical skit (lasting about an hour) with a cast of five, two men, two women, and the piano player/conductor who also sang. The cast, it turned out, were the usher, waitresses, and bartender. The program noted that the piano player was the composer of the show which contained all original music. These "Perils of Penelope" type shows can be pretty mundane musically, but this was Good! The music was bright, original, and kept the show moving. The story predictably followed the history of Fairbanks through the Gold Rush and was complimented by a multi-media projection of old photographs of pioneer Fairbanks on the back wall of the stage. I don't remember the details of the story but it included the boy-meets-girl-wins-girl-survives-adversity theme one would expect. It was delightful.
The review let out at about ten. We didn't feel like going through the hassle (and expense) of a taxi so we decided to walk back to the airport, a distance of about four miles. We marched off into the midnight sun down the main drag for two miles, then a left turn up the airport access road for another two miles.
This walk was the one point in our trip where we stretched to the limit the effectiveness of our mosquito repellent. Two sweaty bodies in the moderate temperatures of the late evening were too much for the bugs to resist. We found if we kept the speed up we were OK, but when we slowed up, they dive bombed us.
Our campsite was at the end of the airport closest to the town. There was an airport gate near our plane. We had noticed that a sign said that the gate closed at 10 pm. If that were the case, we had an additional two miles to hike. We hoped upon hope that the gate would be open as we were quite ready for bed. It was still open when we arrived. As we entered the gate at eleven thirty, the last bit of sun settled below the horizon. In a flash we had the tent up and beds made and were in the rack, instantly asleep.
It had been a busy day
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