We awoke Sunday, August 1st to more clear-blue skies. Today saw us turning off the Richardson Highway at Paxon onto the 134-mile-long, primarily gravel, Denali Highway. Along the way, we enjoyed more spectacular views of Mount Hayes, Mount Deborah, and Mount Hess; although this time from a different vantage point.
Shortly after leaving the paved road behind, we stopped at the Landmark Gap North Trailhead for lunch. A glacially-scoured cut in the mountains, the “gap” formed during an ice age about 10,000 years ago. With our hunger satisfied, we hiked three miles through the Tangle Lakes Archaeological District to Landmark Gap Lake.
While the trail, which is primarily used by four-wheelers, was non-descript, the lake and surrounding aptly-named Amphitheater Mountains, were beautiful. The day was quite warm (by Alaska standards) with temperatures in the mid-70s. While Sara went fly fishing at the lake mouth, this time successfully catching and releasing two grayling, one by one, the rest of us gingerly waded into the lake.
After overcoming the initial shock of the ice-cold water, almost everyone (including me) took a plunge below the water surface. While it took my breath away, it was totally refreshing and a great way to cool off! Plus, it didn’t take long for the sun to dry our dripping wet clothes on our hike back to the van.
Continuing west for another 20 miles, we reached the Maclaren Summit, which at 4,086 feet, is the highest point on the Denali Highway. The summit afforded us more panoramic views of the Alaska Range as well as the Maclaren Glacier to the north, the Maclaren River valley below, and numerous glacially-formed thermokarst and kettle lakes.
Matt found a place for us to pitch our tents in the tundra on a high bench just down from the summit and overlooking the majestic Maclaren River valley.
It was the perfect perch for the night with stunning views. Just behind the campsite, I was delighted to find a meadow of late-blooming flowers amid the tundra as well as some berries.
The only downside was that white socks also loved this spot. While the mosquito season was coming to an end, white socks were coming into their own. Using their knife-life mouthparts to make a miniscule cut in the skin, they then drink the blood that seeps out. These tiny, fly-like bugs do not announce their arrival with any sound; nor does their bite inflict pain. Instead, they attack silently and painlessly. Especially fond of munching ears and around hairlines, their bite leaves a welt that itches like crazy for more days than I like to remember. When the breeze subsided in the early evening, I was quick to put on my bug shirt with its built-in head net. However, unbeknownst to me at the time, I inadvertently trapped at least one white socks inside. They enjoyed a leisurely feast, which left me with at least a dozen itchy bites…
However, no matter the white socks bites, the next morning, Monday, August 2nd, as had been the case for the last three days, I was out of our tent at 5:30 a.m. with camera and telephoto lens in hand, to witness the sunrise. During each of my early-morning forays, I was rewarded with beautiful, soft-pink glows spreading across the sky at dawn. Additionally, our campsites at the Gulkana and Maclaren rivers had the added bonus of views of the list slivers of the waning crescent phase of the moon, when its cratered surface is particularly visible.
This morning provided an extra, late-summer treat; fog rising slowly from the Maclaren River and adjacent lakes and ponds. It was magical and reminded me why I love getting up early to experience the dawn of a new day.
Today, we would be driving the remaining 90-plus miles of the Denali Highway…all but the last three miles on gravel. We continued to “ooh and ahh” as more peaks from the Alaska Range became visible and we passed more lakes and ponds. Gradually losing elevation, we left the tundra behind; spruce and birch trees reappeared. Matt found a picture-perfect spot for lunch a few miles off the main road; a lovely creek with a cascading waterfall that beckoned our bare feet.
Once again Sara demonstrated her skill as a fly fisher.
While the gravel portion of the Denali Highway was in reasonable shape, it was nonetheless bumpy and more tiring than driving on pavement. It also added another level of challenge for taking photos. Dust from the road necessitated keeping the windows closed; the heat of the day required air conditioning. With all the added noise, casual conversations weren’t practical. Left alone with our own thoughts, mine were drawn back to the mid-1980s, when I managed the Social Science Program for the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission license application for the proposed Susitna Hydroelectric Project. It was what brought me to Alaska in 1983, and ultimately, how I crossed paths with Isabel in Miami many years later. Her late-husband Bill was my first boss on the Susitna project. Stopping at the Susitna River Bridge for photos, was a poignant moment for Isabel and me. This river had played a significant role in the trajectory of both of our lives.
We were more than ready for the gravel to end by the time we once again reached paving three miles before Cantwell. While the sky was mostly still clear, smoke from wildfires in Siberia created a haze over the mountains to the west.
Turning south on the George Parks Highway, all of the Alaskans were now on very familiar turf. That evening, we pitched our tents in Byers Lake Campground just off the Park’s Highway, 150 miles from Anchorage. Our campsites, complete with picnic tables, were nestled in the forest among giant ferns. It was quite the contrast to the two previous nights.
After breaking camp in the morning (Tuesday, August 3) we stretched our legs by hiking to the sturdy metal footbridge over Byers Creek, before Matt and Brian packed the van one final time for the drive to Anchorage. Our only stop was the South Denali Viewpoint, where in another case of good luck, Denali was “out,” revealing itself in all of its glory.
Back in Anchorage by mid-afternoon, John, Isabel, and I were the first to be dropped off, along with our gear and (at my suggestion) all of Dave and Doug’s dirty clothes. Walking into our condo felt very surreal. Trying our best to stay in the “zen” of our trip, we washed clothes and sorted gear, jettisoning items that were only for the Noatak portion of our trip, like waders, wader boots, and paddling gloves. We also included things we had not packed, but wished we had, like an emergency blanket to put between our air mattress and the bottom of the tent. Falling into bed that night, we could only hope that our new-found luck would hold for the rest of our trip.
Waking early the morning of Wednesday, August 4th, we were outside in the crisp morning air with our freshly packed gear and clean clothes well before our 7:30 a.m. pickup. Reunited once again, Matt drove our group to the Anchorage airport, for a 10:00 a.m. Alaska Airlines fight. Our destination was Kotzebue, a city of around 3,200 people, which serves as the economic and transportation hub for northwest Alaska. Located on a gravel spit at the end of the Baldwin Peninsula, it is surrounded by Kotzebue Sound, which is part of the Chukchi Sea, which, in turn, is part of the Arctic Ocean. Situated about 10 feet above sea level, the community looked very vulnerable to rises in sea level and winter storms….
Landing at the Ralph Wien Memorial Airport around 11:30 a.m., it was exciting to be once again on the ground above the Arctic Circle. After collecting our gear and loading it into another pickup, it was a short walk from the small, but modern airport terminal to the Golden Eagle Outfitters office. Once there, Matt checked on the status of our air-taxi flight to Kobuk Valley National Park. Once again, it was time to tread water. Warned not to stray too far, we headed outside to see whatever we could close to the office. We were disappointed that the nearby National Park Service Northwest Arctic Heritage Center was closed due to COVID-19. Nonetheless, it was just a short walk for an on-the-ground view of Kotzebue Sound.
Back inside the office, there were two, two-person groups also waiting for flights. The one that caught my attention included a young man named Brad Ryan and his grandmother, a petite older lady, named Joy. Since 2015, Brad and “Grandma Joy” had been on a quest to visit every national park in the United States. Grandma Joy, now 91 years old, and Brad were in Alaska to visit the last national parks on their list. It turns out that they have quite the Instagram following, and have been featured on the Rachael Ray cooking show as well as ABC News. Both from a tiny town in Ohio, Grandma Joy’s zest for life was truly an inspiration!
At 1:00 p.m., we boarded a refurbished de Havilland DHC-3 Otter, receiving an admonishment from our pilot, to “not touch the windows!” After taking our seats, our remaining gear was piled down the middle of the center aisle.
After buckling in and donning our headsets, we were off to Kobuk Valley National Park for three-nights at the Great Kobuk Sand Dunes.
It was somewhat comforting to have our pilot confirm that the Noatak River had in fact flooded, just as the National Weather Service had predicted. But that was then and this was now. The rains that kept us from paddling the Noatak were over; the flood waters had receded; the sun was out; and the temperature was in the high 70s. This time, the weather did not thwart our plans.
No one dozed on the approximately one-hour flight. With more clear skies, there was too much to see, including Kotzebue Sound, extensive wetlands, meandering rivers, small villages, distance mountains, and finally, the first thrilling glimpse of the sand dunes.
It wasn’t until we were flying over the dunes that I wondered where the plane would put down. Much to my surprise, the dunes provided a sufficiently-firm surface to allow us to land.
After our gear was unloaded, we bid the pilot goodbye, turned our backs briefly to protect our faces from propeller-blown sand, and then turned around to watch the plane taxi down the dunes, lift off, and disappear into the clear-blue sky. At long last, we were alone in the Arctic, at least for the time being. Our next mission was deciding where to set up our camp.