SUMMERTIME IN ALASKA - "Where even the sun doesn't want to leave"
When my friend Dan suggested that we go to Alaska for our annual Independence Day road trip, my reaction was mildly unenthusiastic. The egotistical independent traveler in me recoiled at the thought of floating cities anchoring into port and flooding the streets with camera straps, tennis shoes, and land excursion itineraries that fit every budget and ability level. However, after some careful thought & research, I became convinced that Alaska could be more than just a generic corporate package. And, so it went.
I flew four and a half hours from DC to Salt Lake City, UT, and landed as twilight smothered the mountain-flanked city. From Salt Lake, I flew another five hours to Anchorage, AK, where the sun's light seemed to gradually rise once again; it was 12:30AM local time. "Did the sun just rise from the west? Wait a minute, it's 4:30PM in Manilla; the sun can't be in Alaska! WTF!" Perhaps the mini pretzels, cookies, coffee, 4 time zones, and 9-1/2 hours of in-flight nature movies about bees pollinating flowers and carnivorous plants snatching up flies, had finally taken their toll. It was at that moment that I realized, there's something different about Alaska.
The morning after our arrival, my travel companions and I drove down Seward and Sterling Highways from Anchorage towards Homer. It was chilly, overcast, and intermittently misting light rain upon our windshield; it appeared that Alaska was temperamental when it came to sharing its 20-hours of daylight with summer visitors. Despite the weather, our eyes struggled to take in the formidable Chugach mountains that nudged the two-lane highway against the Cook Inlet. It might have been the middle of summer, but nearly every mountain peak was covered in snow. Eventually, we successfully made it all the way to Homer without running off of the highway.
Homer Spit
The small town of Homer (pop. ~5,300) is located at the end of a 5-mile thin strip of land (known as a "spit') that appears to be pulling away from the Kenai peninsula. Homer is “a little drinking town with a big fishing problem,” and is far from short on character. The beach is covered with stones custom made to skip across the glacially fed waters of the Kachemak Bay. While walking along the beach, the stones sound like chain clamor, and the briny coastal breeze holds both the essence of the sea, as well as a penetrable Alaskan chill. Sea otters backstroke just off shore and eavesdrop on travelers sharing conversations around driftwood-fueled fire rings. In the evenings, a beckoning light from an old lighthouse lets patrons know that certain debauchery lies within the Salty Dawg Saloon. Paper currency from various countries of origin blanket the walls and ceiling; little flags thumb-tacked by travelers proclaiming that they too have landed on “the spit.” Fictional stories are shared between strangers, along with shots of hard liquor and recycled Sobe bottles filled with beer from the Alaska Brewing Company. Eventually, sunlight and consciousness secede to the liquor of the night, and soon after, the fishermen awake.
The diesel hum of fishing boats begins before dawn, as fishermen take their daily commute to work in hopes of catching those other fish in the sea. After all, fashionable footwear and accessories in Homer include rubber wader boots, a fishing pole, and bait. As the sun struggles to rise above the horizon’s mountains, the sound of seagull laughter and banter calls out to the departing fishing boats, as if to mockingly say, “Good luck out there; we’ll be waiting right here for your ‘Delicious Catch!’”
Surprise Glacier
Eventually, we left Homer and traveled north. We discovered rain and drunken karaoke in Seward. The sun cleared the sky, and we fell in love with Talkeetna’s charm and amazing river views of Denali (Mt. McKinley), but were nearly defeated by the 4 ½ pound Seward’s Folley Caribou burger at the West Rib Bar and Grill. While flying a single-engine prop plane through the mountain range around Denali, we found ourselves at peace (and in one piece) when we landed on Ruth Glacier. The flightseeing tour was one of the great highlights of our trip and unfortunately, made our bus ride through Denali National Park the following day, anti-climatic. After a drive down to Whittier, we boarded a catamaran and were afforded one of the best glacier experiences the Prince William Sound has to offer. We eventually found our way back to Alaska’s largest city, Anchorage, where I consumed over 6lbs of Alaskan wildlife during Humpy’s “Kodiak Arrest Challenge.”
K2 Aviation Tour
Despite our amazing Alaskan experiences over land, air, and sea, Alaska still escapes me. There’s no easy way to describe a state as large and unique as Alaska. With every geographic area, season, park, and city or town, there’s a unique experience to be had. The raw beauty of the state is enough to dumbfound you. If you consider the expansive list of places to explore, it’s no wonder it’s still considered “the last frontier.” Although it’s one the least populated states, Alaska has some of the greatest diversity of experience one can find in the US. There’s no single season, area, or quick in-and-out way to experience it; to try, is to fail. Regardless of where and when you go, you’re in store for a truly unique Alaskan experience. My only recommendation: rather than accept the pre-canned itineraries of corporate cruise lines, explore the last frontier on your own. Don’t settle for the microwave meal of Alaska; eat it raw and off the bone.
-Don
Sunrise at the end of the Homer Spit