Birch Creek August 12,13

                                            Humpy, final stage of Pink Salmon life cycle.  Ugly !

Silver Salmon

I'm happy to report that I have found my camera which was never really lost just carefully stowed in a compartment of the RV.  It would seem that living in 160 sq ft of space would make locating items easy, but it's actually quite the opposite. Things seem to routinely disappear into the many storage situations that RV designers think travelers will find handy.  Problems arise when moving an item, such as my camera, from the first handy storing compartment to a different handy storage compartment.  When I decided to move my camera, the new storage space seemed to make much more sense than the one I had been using since leaving VT.  Moving something in this manner would not have been problematic years ago, but as I relocated my camera to its new more logical location, I questioned my judgment in doing something so daring with my long term memory constantly doing battle with my short term memory.  But, I did so regardless. Several days later when I went assuredly to get my camera from its compartment before going fishing, guess what? It wasn't there.  I promptly got on my hands and knees and began looking under seats, beds, overhead storage, dirty laundry bag, kitchen cabinets, all to no avail.  Not quite remembering when I had last seen the camera, my immediate thought was that it had fallen from my pocket, slippery devil that it is, and was forever gone.  It was all so mystifying.  Lying in bed one night, I thought and thought.  Years ago I had much bigger issues to occupy my thinking.  I thought and I thought, remembering that I never took the case with me when fishing and so even if the camera had been lost, the case should still be in the RV, but it wasn't. In desperation, I put Bucky on the trail.  He quickly went behind the privacy screen into the cab of the motorhome, reached into a handy compartment and returned with the encased camera.  What a logical place to have stored a camera.  End of search. Wanting to see some new water, we headed to the mouth of Birch Creek.  Birch Creek leaves Fish Lake on the Talkeetna Spur Road and enters a braid of the Susitna River.  Bucky, Levi and I made the two-mile walk through deep mud puddles with the world's slipperiest mud.  Video of this walk would have entertained you all!  Levi remarked on how, at times, our bodies react in unimaginable ways to keep us upright, twisting and contorting, fighting an inevitable fall. Yet at other times, the fall is immediate, leaving one breathless when hitting the ground. This day our bodies twitched and bent and with bouts of laughter, we resisted gravity's pull.  I watched Bucky make athletic moves that neither Levi nor I had seen in years..... if ever.

Silver Salmon

McCarthy, Kennecott Mine, the Wrangells

Leaving Talkeetna and heading into sunshine was an unexpected treat after weeks of clouds and rain.  By the time we headed east on RT 10 to Chitina, the sun was hot and we were joyful. The town of Chitina, once a ghost town when the railway pulled out, is now home to about a 100 people and marks the start of the McCarthy Road.  It is also the gateway to Wrangell-St. Elias National Park.  The Wrangell-St. Elias consists of 13.2 million acres of which 9.7 million acres are designated wilderness.   The park contains the greatest collection of peaks over 16,000 feet on the continent, including Mt. St. Elias, second to Denali at 18,029 feet.  It is a roadless park with only two roads allowing access, one being the McCarthy Road.

The major attraction in Chitina is the Copper River which could possibly be the largest source of Alaskan Salmon.  The size, strength and cement grey water of the Copper is downright scary, yet fisherman are both in the river and on it when the salmon are around.  We stopped to watch the many fish wheels dotting the bank.

The Copper River

Fish wheels which can only be operated by select people, I'm not sure who that is, but definitely not us !

We felt fortunate to have our friend Carter's truck for this trip, complete with a mattress in the back for sleeping.  We spent a restful night, bug free, beside the road waiting for a bridge that was closed for repair to reopen in the morning.

As always, Bucky the cook.

The McCarthy Road is 60 miles one way,  Built over an old rail bed, ties and rails can be seen through the gravel.  It was our hope not to hit anything metal or sharp that might make using the spare a necessity. 

                                                             Gilahina Trestle

The Wrangell Mountains

View of the Kennicott River while crossing on the footbridge.  Note the ice chunk making its way downriver.

 Even upon reaching the end of the McCarthy Road, the journey is not over as the only way to reach McCarthy is across the Kennicott River by footbridge.  Different forms of handcars on cable were used in by gone days.  After crossing the river it's a quarter mile walk into town.  Vans also take people between the river, town and 5 miles to the mine. Some people travel to McCarthy by plane or by van from Chitina to avoid driving the rough road.  The Kennicott and Root Glaciers presented themselves around every turn in the road.

View from the McCarthy Airport showing the Kennicott Glacier to the left and the Root Glacier on the right.

Entering town was quiet and peaceful.  Is this really a National Park?

Downtown McCarthy showed the tell tale signs of their rainy summer.  We were comforted to hear that this sun was some of the first they had seen.  Although having seen pictures of the town, I was not prepared with how both isolated and small it really was.

People come to McCarthy to see the Kennecott Mine which operated outside of town from around 1907 until 1938.  The mine and the glacier and river have slightly different spelling evolved over time.  Over 600 mine workers lived in bunkhouses and small cottages near the mine.  The NPS is working hard to preserve these buildings.  Some are in private ownership. 

The mine with the the general manager's office in the foreground.

Kennecott was phenomenal to see and well worth the trip in.  Although we didn't take a tour, we felt we left the mine with an understanding of the magnitude of the operation and the impact the mine had on this part of Alaska.

We headed back out the road to Chitina and home to Talkeetna, but along the way Bucky had time to continue his search for diamond willow and attempted to catch his first grayling.  He was somewhat successful in both ventures.  The spot he chose for willow picking had been poached before by someone with a chainsaw making the harvest much faster than with the folding saw Bucky had.  Long Lake produced several small grayling, but as I tried to capture the moment, Bucky dropped the fish, tearing its lip, allowing it to escape back into the lake.  We have a long history of fish dropping which has made us consider having T shirts made with, WE DROP FISH, something like, we ship anywhere, we recycle, we are proud grandparents, it's just who we are and what we do.  Carter, you know what we mean !

Some peeling revealed that this MIGHT be diamond willow, hopefully it won't be confiscated at the border like last year.

I wish I had a chainsaw.

Grayling

Fool

On our way back to Glen Allen, we took a look at the pipeline on the final leg of its 800 mile journey to Valdez where the oil is loaded onto ships. 

The pipeline always appears insignificant in size when thinking of the importance of what it carries to the world.  Our plan is to stay put in Talkeetna waiting for the Silver Salmon to arrive as well as for the arrival of Levi on August 8th.  Perhaps he'll bring some of the summer heat of the Northeast with him.

Teller Highway

The Teller Highway was our final road to drive during our visit to Nome. Again, a 70 mile trip to the Eskimo village of Teller lying within Grantley Harbour with easy access to the Sea. We had heard different things about Teller including that it was not safe, don't camp near there, it's where they relocate natives who have been kicked out of their tribe, if you have to skip a road, skip the Teller Road and the natives are NOT friendly. Fortunately, Bucky and I both had a moment of deafness upon hearing these reviews and decided that Teller was a must see. The drive to Teller is nothing short of spectacular. We crested high hills and had views that stretched for miles eventually ending at the Bering Sea. From these high vistas we could see the village of Teller in the distance and Brevig Mission lying across the bay.  
 

Passing salmon drying on racks and set nets lying on the beach, we entered Teller. Photo ops were everywhere, but it seemed disrespectful and uncomfortable to take pictures when people were present. I spoke to a young Eskimo girl fishing from the beach and she very shyly answered me.  There were homes with broken windows and flowers planted beside them, dogsleds leaning against sheds covered with caribou and moose antlers.  Photographing these would have involved stopping which didn't seem like the right thing to do. We drove through the heart of the village, past the school where many young mothers and children were playing outside. They smiled as we passed.

                                                                                 Teller

We stood on the spit and looked across the bay at fish camps in silence. It was incredibly peaceful.

We left town after stopping at the grocery store. Perhaps it's because Bucky is the son of a grocer, but often times we've found the true flavor of a town can be found at the local store. It took but a few minutes to locate the only store in town. It was difficult to tell if it was open as there were no vehicles outside and no one in sight. 

We were alone when we entered the store but quickly one by one people appeared. Had they all suddenly become hungry? By the time we payed for our gum and chips, the store was full of men, women and children. It wasn't hard to figure out that we were the attraction. Everyone was smiling as were we. We left Teller feeling privileged for having been there. We returned to Nome for our final night with reservations to stay at the Nugget Inn. When I made the reservation, before driving to Council, I cringed when I heard the price of $110. Now, after having slept in a Murphy bed, with no running water at $130, the Nugget with private bath, shower, microwave, fridge and TV seemed like pure luxury. We spent our final evening touring Front Street having pizza and beer. With an early morning flight back to Anchorage, we tried to sleep, but even at midnight the sun shone through the thin drapes on our window making sleep difficult. 

Locals enjoy an evening fire on the beach behind the Nugget.

                                           Front Street as seen from behind the Nugget Inn.


We picked Fisher up from Pete and Anya's dog yard where Carlisle had been housesitting off the Talkeetna Spur Road.

Carlisle and Carma

Fisher seemed to be howling more after her dog yard experience, but she settled back into RV life without much hesitation. We haven't told her yet, but within a few days we'll head East to the small town of McCarthy. The road to McCarthy is to rough for the RV so we'll go by truck. Fisher will again need to leave the club chair in the RV and  head back with Lisle to the dog yard.

Council Highway

Upon completing the Kougarok Road, we made a quick trip in Nome for gas and supplies.  Let's see, gas or water?  It seemed to make the most sense, with Bucky having made two stops already for refreshments, that we go with the gas.  Living in Nome is expensive but one cannot put a price on the experience.  We were quick to whip out our Alaska Airlines credit card and felt good in knowing that every dollar spent brought us closer to being able to return to Alaska.  Our next stop was the harbor and some crab to take along for dinner.

As we left Nome on the Council Highway, we followed Iditarod trail markers and could almost visualize Lance Mackey traveling toward Nome with victory in sight as he crossed the Bering Sea ice.

Blue but not sweet

Traveling along the coast toward Safety, we passed by fish camps some active and others waiting for more fish to arrive. 

                                                     Note the fish drying and the scarecrow. 

Last check point before Nome and the Iditarod finish.

A quick call from Chris before losing service told us to seek out a man named Mike Murphy if we made it to Council and didn't want to camp in the rain.  He said that he would be easy to find, just drive up any driveway and ask.  Crossing the Niukluk River is the only entry to Council.  I reread to Bucky the information I had received at the visitors center, "without knowledge of the river, crossing with a vehicle can be extremely dangerous."  I had the feeling that Bucky's deafness came into play at this particular moment.  After a spectacular 70 mile drive through tundra and mountains wrapped in fog we reached the end of the road.  Sitting here on a gravel bar beside the Niukluk River, we hoped that someone would cross so that we might follow their watery path to locate Mike Murphy, whomever he might be.

                   The Niukluk River filled with dying salmon and the town of Council in the distance.

We sat as the rain continued to fall and the evening got later, yet no one crossed the river.  Shortly, two women approached us and asked if we had seen anyone cross.  They were not happy to hear our answer but cleverly, one of their husbands had provided them with a video of the correct way to cross.  They retreated back up the bank to their vehicle to watch it in private.  Thanks so much for the invite !  Shortly after they left, we heard the sound of an engine and turned just in time to watch a truck that was much higher and bigger than ours head into the river.  As it approached, water pushed over its hood and a wake was created making it appear more boat like than truck. Now, I wondered if a warm cabin and a dry bed and a stranger named Mike Murphy were worth losing a rental truck over. What was an Irishman doing in Council anyway?  Next, we heard the rumble of what sounded like Big Foot approaching.  And, over the bank came an old Bronco set on high tires heading for the river.  We were surprised to see one of the women driving and the other heading for the water in her waders.  Evidently the video had given them enough information to attempt the crossing.  In the lead was the woman in waders testing the water.  As she lead, so the Bronco followed.  I sensed that Bucky was thinking, now why didn't I think of that? Jorene's waders are right in the back.  Being ever so brave, after they had successfully negotiated the current, we decided it was safe to follow suit.  Something about sending the women and children out first came to mind. 

Finding Mike Murphy was not difficult.  Asking direction up the first driveway we came to and then heading one cabin over. 

Turns out that Mike, as his name implied, grew up near Boston and headed to AK as a young man to homestead.  He had lived in Nome as a police officer for 25 years and now planned to live full time with his wife at their cabin in Council.  His wife didn't seem totally convinced that living in Council with the company of just one other couple through a winter of total darkness was going to be all that much fun.  Mike was a wealth of knowledge about hunting, fishing, subsistence living, solar energy and local history.  The cabin was cozy despite no running water and the staggering price tag of $65 per person per night with out meals.  Mike gladly cooked up our King Crab which made for a great supper on top of two extra strong vodka and cranberry juice cocktails.  Thank goodness for Bucky's forward thinking in terms of bringing liquid refreshments.  If we hadn't been tired, wet and standing with one foot in the door, we would surely have made a hasty exit.  However, by staying, we were given a view of Nome we wouldn't have seen otherwise.  Perhaps the experience really is priceless!  In the morning, we retraced our water route across the Niukluk and back up into the tundra.

Seeing spawning salmon swim by outside my window was an unusual sight.

When leaving Council we saw our first reindeer, part of a privately owned herd of 22,000 animals.

As we returned to Nome passing through the former site or the town of Solomon, we stopped to look at the Last Train to Nowhere.  This train was to haul freight and passengers during the peak of the Gold Rush between Solomon, lying at the end of Safety Sound, to Council.  For a variety of reasons, financial problems being one, the train never ran.  Now, it sits where it was left.

Now, one road left, the Teller Highway.