It wasn’t long after lunch, Matt informed us we would be leaving Bettles on a 3:00 p.m. flight to Fairbanks. That was a welcome surprise! With that news, we scrambled to pack the rest of our gear and shift our mental energy to our new plan. Sure enough, shortly before 3:00 p.m., a Wright Air Service plane appeared out of the clouds and landed. Our gear, which had been heaped once again into the back of a Brooks Range Aviation pickup, was driven to the plane for loading.
After stuffing our gear into the various holds of the plane, it was time for us to climb aboard. I volunteered to sit in up front next to the pilot. As the plane taxied down the airstrip and took off, our group let out a collective sigh of relief. However, we also felt a twinge of disappointment that our long-awaited flight out of Bettles was taking us south to Fairbanks, instead of north to Pingo Lake.
While the rest of our group settled into naps, I was eager to observe whatever I could from the co-pilot’s seat.
I never tire of seeing the myriad colors and patterns that a bird’s eye view of Alaska reveals. When the ground is hidden by clouds, the clouds themselves are typically interesting as well.
Not surprisingly, given the weather, initially there were few glimpses of the ground below. Most of the flight took us between two layers of clouds. The one below was an ominous gray extending as far as the eye could see to the left and right. However, above our plane, there was blue sky, accentuated with beautiful fluffy-white clouds. As if a consolation prize, the clouds below parted briefly as we flew over the mighty Yukon River, which is always a thrill to see. As we neared Fairbanks, we left the lower cloud layer behind, which afforded us views of rolling hills, in addition to a river north of town with textbook oxbow-shaped meanders.
After landing and taxiing to the Wright Air Service terminal, we emerged from the plane, pausing a moment to blink into the bright sunshine and feel the warm dry air on our faces. It was a pleasure to pull out our sunglasses and shed extra layers, after all of the rain and overcast skies in Bettles. We then treaded water (this time figuratively) outside the terminal for a couple of hours before we were ready to leave town. While we waited, we collected our gear and said our goodbyes to Geoff and Mike; Matt picked up an Alaska Alpine Adventures van at the airport parking lot. It was a bit of a shock to be back in “civilization.” Nevertheless, packing away raincoats and soaking up the warmth of the sun was a pleasure.
Like magicians, Matt and Brian squeezed gear into the back of the van without an inch to spare. That done, our group, now numbering six (not including our guides) climbed into the van to claim our respective seats. After quick resupply and fuel stops, at long last, we were on our way, heading south for 135 miles on the Richardson Highway. Our destination was the Lodge at Black Rapids, where we assumed we would be camping. We were both surprised and pleased to learn that in fact, we would be staying inside the lodge after first having dinner there. That was going to be quite the change from staying in an airplane hangar and sleeping on a cold concrete slab!
It had been almost 20 years since I had driven the Richardson Highway, then traveling the oppositive direction from Glennallen to Fairbanks on a trip with my mom. At that time, she and I were on what I like to call, our “Thelma and Louise” road trip to the Artic Circle in my 1983 Honda Accord. That was an adventure (or misadventure) deserving of its own story. Part of what I remembered about that trip was that the Richardson Highway passed through very beautiful country. Now, driving south from Fairbanks, once again on a clear, blue-sky summer day, my recollection was confirmed. The highway afforded us with never-ending views of beautiful mountains—some snow-capped in the distance—in addition to glaciers and the impressive, and braided, Tanana River.
As the unofficial trip photographer, I was literally sitting on the edge of my seat, snapping pictures out both sides of the van as the scenery sped by. Because the lodge was holding dinner for our group, we didn’t have the luxury of stopping for photos, except for a scenic overlook where we drank in the view (albeit hazy) of three of the Alaska Range’s high peaks; Mount Deborah, Mt. Hayes, and Hess Mountain. Our mission was to arrive at the lodge by 9:00 p.m., which we barely managed to do. Turning off the highway just beyond the abandoned, but historic Black Rapids Roadhouse, Matt drove to the top of a bluff, where the Lodge at Black Rapids is perched, overlooking its namesake glacier and the Delta River.
After checking in, we were shown to our rooms; one for the guides, one for Doug and Dave, and one for our group of four. Like kids in a candy store, while waiting for dinner, we explored the many public spaces of the three-story lodge with its views of the river and glacier. The top floor, which included expansive windows (both clear and stained glass), books, and historical artifacts and cozy chairs, was very inviting. Equally inviting were the comfy chairs by a large stone fireplace adjacent to the dining area.
We were still pinching ourselves as we sat down for an elegant and delicious dinner, complete with cloth napkins and fancy dessert. The availability of hot showers was just one more treat.
Our only regret was that because we had arrived so late, most of our time at the lodge would be spent asleep. Nevertheless, our stay did underscore the fact that Doug, Dave, John, Sara, Isabel, and I had indeed made the correct decision in Bettles by selecting Option 2. Or so it seemed, until Isabel and I decided to take a sauna before retiring for the night. It was around 11:30 p.m., when we slipped outside in our lodge-provided plush, white bathrobes and padded through the cool night air across the wooden walkway to the sauna. Inside, the temperature was just right. It proved to be the perfect way to relax at the end of the day, and also afforded us the opportunity to ponder all that had happened on our Arctic adventure thus far. After about 20 minutes, we both agreed we had absorbed all the heat our bodies could take; it was now time to leave. However, as instructed, before departing, I dutifully placed another chunk of firewood in the sauna stove to keep the fire going. I then reached for the latch on the sauna; but, try as I might, I couldn’t get the latch on the door to work. At first it was surprising; then it became embarrassing. As I continued to try to open the latch, without success, it became concerning. Isabel and I knew that no amount of screaming for help or pounding on the door would bring any rescuers; we were simply too far from the main lodge for anyone to hear and as far as we knew, everyone else was already asleep. As our bodies continued to heat and just before real panic set in, with the help of Isabel, the latch engaged, the door popped open; and we escaped into the cool night air. We thanked our lucky stars as we scurried back to our room. Never in our wildest dreams of our trip to the Arctic, could we have imagined dying of heat stroke in a sauna at a luxury lodge on the Richardson Highway….
The next morning (Saturday, July 31st) came far too soon. Our stay indeed had been quite the contrast to our two nights in Bettles. Refreshed by hot showers, luxurious beds, and excellent food, we were now ready to continue our adventure…after Matt and Brian packed the van.
The details of our itinerary for the next three days were being created on the fly based on Matt’s suggestions. Having grown up in this neck of the woods in Delta Junction, we were fortunate to have a guide who was familiar with this part of Alaska. That said, we were in high spirits as we climbed back into the van and continued south on the Richardson Highway. It was another unbelievably glorious, blue-sky day with impressive views of stunning mountains and the Delta River. It didn’t take long to find a place to explore. Ten miles from the Lodge at Black Rapids, we stopped just shy of the bridge over Castner Creek to hike to the Castner Glacier, which spills out of the eastern section of the Alaska Range. Following a well-worn path on the north side of creek, it was glorious to finally be doing some real hiking and to need sunscreen rather than rain gear. The trail roughly paralleled Castner Creek, initially winding through scattered spruce before giving way to occasional shrubs and hardy vegetation seeking a foothold in glacially-deposited silt between iron-colored rocks.
The base of the glacier, which was a short 1.3-mile hike, was a steep pile of naked rock rubble devoid of any vegetation. As we neared the base, we had our first glimpse of its otherworldly ice cave around to the right. Castner Creek was a raging torrent of heavily silted gray water pouring out from the mouth of the cave. Reaching the cave entrance required negotiating a steep slope of rock scree. Entering the cave required spinning the roulette wheel as chunks of ice, gravel, rocks, and dirt, fell without warning from the top of the cave entrance to the rocks and rushing water below. A misstep on the steep, scree slope would likely result in an unwelcome and potentially-dangerous swim in Castner Creek. The better part of valor was to enjoy the beauty of the cave from outside.
And beautiful it was, with its arched walls and ceiling comprised of glistening blue and white ice in sculpted horizontal layers accented with vertical cracks. Embedded in the ice were a series of what looked like seams of shiny gold.
Exposed to above-freezing temperatures, water was dripping from the walls and ceiling of the cave. It was mesmerizing!
Back in the van, we kept driving south, where we continued to have unparalleled views of the impressive floodplain of the Delta River as well as mountains, mountains, and more mountains.
Stopping about 20 miles later at Isabel Pass, our eyes focused on the Gulkana Glacier, which is carving its way out of the eastern portion of the Alaska Range.
Matt suggested this area as a place to camp and explore; the rest of us agreed. Notable as the site of the annual, spring Arctic Man ski and snowmachine event, it is also a popular location for four-wheeling during the summer and fall. Turning off the highway onto a gravel road, we first drove to the floor of the broad valley; and then along the valley floor toward the glacier until finding an area, away from other people, for our campsite.
Before pulling out our tents, we followed Matt to the Gulkana Glacier Trailhead, where we were met with a 100-foot-long suspension footbridge over Phelan Creek. One by one, we first climbed the wooden slats that served as stairs to get us to the bridge. Then, taking turns, we walked across the bridge stepping on more wooden slats, which served as the bridge floor, while carefully hanging onto thick side cables for balance as the steps moved with our weight. It was not for the faint of heart!
Across the bridge and continuing along the rocky trail, we were afforded expansive views of the surrounding glacially-carved mountains and landscapes, with the clear-blue sky as a backdrop. It was beautiful and impressive.
Spilling out of its namesake glacier, the edge of the Gulkana River provided an excellent place to enjoy a late lunch, relax, soak up the sun, and listen to the splash of the water on the rocks. In addition to the wonderful scenery, I was happy to find some dwarf fireweed, complete with bumble bees, to photograph.
Back at the van, we were excited to be setting up our tents for the first time outdoors. We had an added bonus of continued clear-blue skies, warm (but not hot) temperatures, and a light breeze, which kept the bugs away. We were happy campers, and at long last, our streak of bad luck appeared to have ended!