Thick fog surrounded our RV at 3685 ft, the top of Eagle Summit. Persistent rain hit the windshield and slithered down with the consistency of water transitioning to snow. Hundreds of hunters in every type of shelter camped exposed on barren ridge lines below the summit. An occasional tent was staked in the roadside ditch, protected from the wind, in an effort to avoid being uplifted and blown away in Mary Poppins fashion. A brightly colored beach umbrella lay crumpled against a side hill, deposited far from any campsite.
Our visit to North Pole, near Fairbanks Alaska, was to include a few days of camping beside the Chena River and a day spent soaking in Chena Hot Springs. This plan abruptly changed following a drive northeast of Fairbanks to Ski Land. I was interested in seeing this small ski area described by our daughter, Carlisle, as a step back in time and reminiscent of Vermont’s ski area history.
Ski Land sits atop Cleary Pass, one of three passes along the 161 mile Steese Highway stretching from Fairbanks to Circle. It’s here that the northernmost chair lift in North America is found. We found it interesting that ski customer parking, ski rental and lodge are at the top of the lift and not at the base. If the lift were to break down, it’d be quite a hike back to the car. From the mountain top we were given a panoramic view of the White Mountains, the excavation surrounding Fort Knox a huge open pit gold mine and places far beyond.
Chatanika Lodge is found about 15 miles up the highway beyond Ski Land. We took a look inside and if we hadn’t just eaten, the cheese steak sandwiches and dredge burgers looked amazing. A middle aged man was busy talking to Shirley, the owner. My ears perked up when he asked if many Johnny Cash fans visited. She looked puzzled. He went on to explain that he was visiting the 92 places mentioned in Cash’s song, “I’ve Been Everywhere”. Shirley maintained a puzzled look as she asked if he was sure it was Chatanika and not Chattanooga.
Christmas in August!
The fellow replied with confidence that it was indeed Chatanika and would she like him to recite for memory all the towns mentioned? To this, Shirley, apparently still confused, politely answered, “no” and handed him his burger. A check with Google confirmed it was indeed Chatanika. We later learned that this man worked for the airlines which facilitated his worldwide travel. He was accompanied by his wife and son who both seemed equally interested in his quest. His son smiled between bites of his dredge burger as his dad told Shirley that Chatanika was one of the final six remaining towns left of the 92.
Both Shirley and I were momentarily distracted by a pretty, blond haired woman picking up a take out order, 20 dredge burgers for Knox Mine. The bill was $220 and she had forgotten her credit card. Shirley's husband was quick to say, "No worries, stop back later with your card". Was it her youthful good looks or are the folks of Chatanika as trusting as a Johnny Cash lyric?
As we drove further away from civilization, we weren’t surprised to find the shoulders of the highway crowded with hunters, atvs and trailers. Caribou hunting had begun. The road transitioned from pavement to well maintained dirt and the RV melded into the hunting scenery, except for our VT license plates.
Snuggled in for the night.
The treeless landscape allowed hunters to glass for migrating caribou, seeing for miles in all directions. The road took us down into creek bottoms still being mined and up to high summits shrouded in fog. Groups of hunters seemed to have favored locations, either snug beside a clear brook or buffeted by wind up high.
We weren’t here to hunt, but to see two towns at the end of the Steese Highway, Central at mile 127.7 and Circle at 161.3, only 50 miles south of the Arctic Circle. These towns had meaning to me as I follow the Yukon Quest, a 1000 mile dogsled race between Whitehorse, Yukon and Fairbanks AK. Some of the most challenging terrain of the race lies in the area we’re exploring.
Old mining equipment on display outside the Circle District Historical Society Museum, located in Central. Unfortunately, the museum wasn’t open. Central was once known as Central House and is on Crooked Creek, within one of the oldest and richest mining districts in Alaska.
Central has no school and a population of 86 hardy souls. The Milepost describes Central as being subarctic with, ”winters that are long and harsh and summers warm and short”. It appeared, during this visit, that summer was nearing an end. From Central Corner, seen in the video above, we headed down Circle Hot Springs Road, also in Central. I often felt we were talking in circles as many things in Central referred to Circle. We were surprised how well maintained the roads were in towns of small population and so far from Fairbanks. Power poles dotted the roadside here while much of our town of Talkeetna has no power. We knew Circle Hot Springs had been closed for years but hoped for a closer look than we obtained.
It appeared as though some hunters had traveled by airplane.
Circle Hot Springs appeared empty and eerie on this cloudy day. It would have been fun to have seen the springs, but numerous no trespassing signs indicated it wouldn't be wise.
We continued on from Central driving through low wet areas and high hills. We navigated around numerous hairpin turns before finally arriving in Circle, on the bank of the mighty Yukon River.
Circle was once the largest gold mining town on the Yukon until the Klondike rush of 1898 and the rapid growth of Dawson City. Now, Circle has a population of 108 and a school of 20 plus students, Pre-k through grade 12. Circle has survived both floods and wildfire.
Lunch and 💤 beside the Yukon. We LOVE our house on wheels!
Rasmussen House, built in 1909 seen through raindrops on our windshield.
As is often the case, our return to Fairbanks seemed to present entirely different scenery despite covering the same ground, just in reverse. Pull offs that were crowded before were now packed with hunters leaving no room for us to squeeze in. We felt lucky to finally find a spot and be the only ones there. However, it wasn’t long before we had numerous neighbors. I really enjoyed watching young sons and daughters included in their parents' hunt. Dressed in camouflage, they bopped around the pick up trucks, fussed with hunting gear and sat eating a meal cooked on a camp stove, under a tarp. Everyone smiling despite the drizzle. Whether the hunt was successful or not, I could see memories being made. I felt equally as fortunate to be in our warm RV, cooking on my 3 burner stove, using my indoor toilet and crawling into my queen size bed.
