Alaska - Day 5 - Wrangell

7/7/14

McCarthy, Alaska (Wrangell-St. Elias National Park & Preserve)

When people ask me the most beautiful natural sites I have visited, I always answer, without hesitation, by putting one hand high up, saying “The Grand Canyon, number one,” and putting the other hand six inches lower, saying, “All of our other National Parks, tied for second.”  Now, when people ask me, I will have a different answer.  I will put one hand up as high as I can reach, saying, “Wrangell-St.Elias, number one,” then, with the other hand at eye level, “The Grand Canyon, number two,” followed by the original hand six inches lower, saying “All of our other National Parks, tied for third.”  There is no doubt in my mind about it.  Why then am I not completely floored yet?  Where is my Grand Canyon moment?  When will I have that image I will remember the rest of my life?  I cannot blame sleep deprivation or fatigue, and I do not want to say that I have become jaded.  I discussed the high expectations theory in a previous entry, but I think it is more than that.  I have a few ideas.  The first is that this is such a beautiful place that no words can describe it, so I do not even try.  It is so obviously the most beautiful natural site I have ever seen, that I feel like I already knew how beautiful it was.  When I say Wrangell-St. Elias, I mean The World Heritage Site.  Glacier Bay, Tatshensini-Alsek, and Kluane are all more beautiful than the Grand Canyon, but Wrangell-St. Elias has them beat.  Maybe that is the answer.  I had my Grand Canyon moment when we first left the airport in Juneau.  When I saw the Grand Canyon for the first time, it was after a long and boring drive through the desert.  Here, it has been a steady but gradual increase in beauty.  That view from the airport parking lot had the Grand Canyon beat, so other than seeing the Glacier in Glacier Bay, there has been no major change in scenery.  Sure it has gotten better, but not exponentially better.  That is why, by the time we got to Wrangell, I knew without a second thought that this was the most beautiful natural site I have ever seen.

I didn’t set an alarm this morning, and I was implementing the Redwoods protocol.  I would wake up when I woke up, have breakfast, hope to get to the plaque right when they opened, and then spend as much time as we needed to properly see the park.  We went to the same place for breakfast as we had dinner last night.  Just to eff with the waitress, Sokol asked if there was a discount for “crew members.”  She went to check, but Sokol told her he was joking.  We still do not know what a crew member is, and Sokol wanted to ask.  I insisted it remain forever a mystery.  Of course, the service was just as shitty as yesterday and the food just as slow.  At least I got to have reindeer sausage again.

(Top) Where the plaque was.
(Bottom) Where the plaque should have been.

It was not much after 9 AM when we got to the VC, and we weren’t on any kind of time schedule, so we had all the time we wanted.  We parked, and, thinking of Olympic NP and Mammoth Caves NP, the first place I checked for the plaque was next to the restroom.  At least it was not there.  We walked into the VC, and there it was, mounted underneath the ranger desk.  I believe my exact words were, “That’s where they put the fucking thing?”  When I get back to New York, I will post a series of photos that illustrates how Canada treats their plaques versus how the US treats their plaques.  At least they had a plaque, and that was what mattered.  They also had the official sticker for my passport, but they were sold out of pins, so I was quite glad I had gotten one at Slana.  I could not find something that would work for my official WHS souvenir, nor could we find a present for Katie, so I will have to try again tomorrow.  After I did my stamping, Sokol took some pictures of me with the plaque, and we got advice for the rest of our day, starting with an hour of hiking by the VC.  He also said that there were some hikes along the road to the park entrances, and I deadpanned, “But they’re not official National Park trails?” knowing Sokol would get a kick out of it.  We went outside and headed to the trail.  We were than greeted by the most breathtaking vista.  We both turned to each other, and I don’t remember which of us said it, but we agreed that this was where the plaque should have been, not squirreled away under the ranger counter in the VC.

I lit up the last of my cigars from Japan, the Punch Asia Pacifico Exclusivo, while Sokol lit up a Villiger.  That was when the bugs started.  I said that I am okay with bugs as a natural part of summer in The North.  That is true, to an extent.  The extent was passed.  The views on the hike were amazing, and we took our first official Us in the park.  We got to a spot along a cliff edge, overlooking the river.  I started to get ready to take my picture, and then I dropped my water bottle.  My heart stopped.  It fell directly on the dirt not 10 feet from the edge, and it stayed there.  I picked up, and I made was afraid to get any closer to the edge to take a decent picture.  Sokol asked me what I would have done if it fell in.  Without hesitation, I said that I would have jumped in after it. Each time we stop for pictures, I always take the same three pictures (or multiples of them).  I take a picture of the thing, a picture with the thing, and a picture together.  Sokol has figured that out by now, and steps in and out of the frame without a word once I set start holding the camera out.  By the time we got back to the VC, we were both bit up pretty bad, and my right sandal had cut up the back of my foot, as it always does.  I got some adhesive bandages and some bath tissue, which solved the problem.

Our next stop was to gas up in Kenny Lake before we officially entered the park.  Our sound track for the day Avril Lavigne’s album Under My Skin, and Sokol knows the songs as well as I by now.  It was an old-fashioned gas pump in Kenny Lake, just like the one they had in Fort Smith, and we also got stuff to deal with the bugs.  We knew we would be hungry soon, but we were not quite ready to eat.  The next place to eat was less than 30 minutes away, and, after that, we would not find anything to eat until we got to McCarthy.  Sokol took an unofficial U, which I refused to do.  As we drove, we saw a bunch of odd looking animals and then a sign that said “Alaskan Yaks.”  We stopped.

The great thing about today is that we had all the time in the world, and we could stop wherever and whenever we wanted.  A yak farm was one of those such places, and it reminded me of the old days, before the Munich Runs.  It is the proper way to see an NP of this caliber, and I am so glad we did it this way instead of how we had planned.  The ranger in Copper Center had told us the best places to stop along the way, and we wound up stopping at all of them and more.  Something as simple as spending ten minutes at a roadside espresso shack is the difference between this trip and my Eurotrip.  It makes all the difference in the world.  They had advertised yak meat at the farm, but it was frozen, and we had no way of cooking it.  They had a yak puppy walking around, and I took some pictures with the yak, which was much more accommodating than the bear.

Our next planned stop was the Chitina Ranger Station (RS), but there was a restaurant once we reached Chitina, so we stopped there for lunch.  As seems to be common to rural Alaska, the food was slow and overpriced.  At least it was good, as was the service.  The menu had listed yak burgers, but they were sold out, so we got regular burgers instead.  Then we headed to the RS.  There are, I believe places to get stamps in the park, and one of them is accessible by air only and closed for repairs, to boot.  I wanted to get the other 5 stamps over the course of the three days we would be in the park.  Chitina was the third stamp, and the other two were in McCarthy and Kennecott in the heart of the park.  Our destination for the evening was McCarthy.  They had a sign outside the RS showing what land was part of the NP, what was the NPres, and what was privately owned.  I realized that we would not technically be setting foot in the National Park.  I was devastated.  I asked the ranger, and he said that the road was owned by the State of Alaska, but we could park anywhere along the road and just walk as deep into the park as we wanted at any point, since the NP land was right on the other side of the road.  We would wind up doing exactly that.

After we left the RS, we began our 58-mile journey along the famous, historic McCarthy Road, a gravel road that lead us into the heart of the park.  It took us almost 4 hours, including stops.  Our first stop along the road was the Copper River easement, which was quite overrated, but it had some nice vistas, and I lit up a Quesada for the drive.  The next scheduled stop was the Kuskulana Bridge, a single-lane wooden bridge that had very weak supports.  I thought of the one person with whom I would most want to be taking this trip, as much as it would be driving her crazy.  She doesn’t do small planes.  She doesn’t do boats.  She doesn’t do long drives.  She doesn’t do buggy hikes.  She sure as hell does not do bridges like this one.  She will never see Alaska, as much as she would love it here.  That person is, of course, my mother, the faithful companion for most of the best National Parks I have visited, including our wonderful trip to Acadia last summer.  Next summer, we will be doing Yellowstone NP and Glacier NP together, which will be an epic trip, and the one where I say “Mainland US Complete.”  We parked on the other side of the bridge, and I claimed an engineer’s prerogative to examine the structural supports on the bridge.  I was not comforted.  I then asked myself the same question I always ask Stuart before we go on a roller coaster.  “Do you have faith in the structural engineer that designed this the bridge and the inspectors that inspected it?”  I did.  Our next scheduled stop was a trail alongside an old railroad bridge.  Of course, we took plenty of unscheduled stops at scenic vistas.

People often talk about “leaving no stone unturned.”  For me, when I travel, my goal is to “leave no picture untaken, no souvenir unstopped, no brochure unstamped, no plaque unfound.”  That was exactly what we did today.  We stopped at every single stopping point, taking our time, truly enjoying ourselves.  It was quite possibly the most relaxing travel day I have had since Iqaluit.  No, since Florida.  No flights to catch, to Munich Runs to a VC, no worry about getting to a hotel after midnight.  The fact that this was in The North, at a WHS, with my best friend, just added to it.  One of the unscheduled stops we made was when we saw a sign saying that official National Park land was just on the left side of the road.  I took my first official U in the National Park land, while Sokol took his first official U in the National Preserve land.  I then walked a little further to what looked like a clearing with a great view of the park, and I climbed down.  I was wrong.  It was a swamp.  My feet and legs got soaked, but I was able to navigate by walking across some thicker patches of reeds.  Sokol, concerned about where I was going, came to join me, quickly learning that his waterproof hiking shoes were not exactly waterproof.  After taking some pictures, we did finally proceed to the railroad trestle.  We sprayed each other with deet, which helped against the bugs, but it was not 100% effective.  I lit up a Timeless for the walk, which would be my last cigar of the road.

When we got back on the road, we saw a sign for Mountain Mamas espresso and ice cream.  It was perfect.  I really wanted espresso, and Sokol really wanted ice cream.  My espresso was underpriced, and Sokol’s ice cream was overpriced.  While Sokol chatted with one of the Mountain Mamas, I sat outside and chatted with her father, or maybe it was her husband.  He asked me how I liked the road, and I said it was fine.  I think he was expecting to get a sheltered New Yorker to tell how bad it was to drive it.  I told him that, in Central America, they call that a good road.  He asked about the bugs.  Again, I proved to him I was not a sheltered New Yorker.  I told him that when I went to NWT, the bugs were so bad that you still get bit even with a mosquito jacket and deet.  While I do not take pleasure in meeting new people, in hearing their stories, I was more than happy to sit with him and tell him about my trip to Wood Buffalo NP while I sipped on my espresso.  He asked where we were staying, and I told him that we were at the McCarthy B&B, which was just alongside the road, about 10 more miles, but something seemed off.  I could have sworn that I had made a reservation at the McCarthy Lodge, which was past the footbridge and in town, another 2 miles down.  The mama came out, and I asked her where we could get dinner.  She mentioned the saloon, and I asked if it was along the highway or in town?  She looked at me like I was crazy.  The highway?  It was in town.  We got back on the road, and we pulled over a little before the McCarthy B&B.  Yes, my itinerary said the McCarthy B&B, but I had changed my plans for how to approach this park so many times that I could have forgotten to change the hotel on the spreadsheet.  Sure enough, I had a prepaid room at the McCarthy Lodge, not at the McCarthy B&B.

It was less than a mile to the Information Center, where I should have been able to get the McCarthy stamp.  I knew it to be unstaffed, so I assumed that it would be like some of the sites in DC or like Voyageurs NP, where the stamps were chained up outside.  I was wrong.  There was a ranger station, but it was boarded up.  I was able to open up one of the windows, but I could not see a stamp.  Sokol asked me if I was going to try and sneak in the window.  I said that I would have if I saw the stamp.  We got back in the car and were soon at the end of the road.  There was a parking lot attached to a campsite for people wanting to hike the glacier.  We settled for a picture.  The parking was on the honor system, and, I put the appropriate amount of money in the box.  In such an honest and trusting place, how could I do otherwise?  I then used two things that I cannot remember using in years: a payphone and a phonebook.  The payphone was actually free for local calls, so we called the lodge, which came to pick us up once we walked across the footbridge.  The rooms did not have outlets, and I said that I needed one for my CPAP machine, really just wanting to charge my electronics.  I could manage a night without the CPAP, but I could not manage a day without my phone.  She set us up in the old brothel, since it was closer to the hallway outlet and easier for her to run the wire.  I wanted to sleep in the famous, historic hotel, but I did also like the idea of sleeping in a cabin in a WHS, as is my wont to do.

I found it rather ironic that there was a lock on the thermostat but no locks on the doors, just a latch from the inside.  Even as a born and bred New Yorker, I felt no qualms about leaving my passport, my computer, anything in the room.  We got settled in for a few minutes and went across the way to the saloon, where we ordered a couple of steaks and beers and took our first official Us in McCarthy.  While Sokol was taking his U, the bartender came up to me and announced a number with no explanation.  She simply said, “It’s X.”  I had no idea what she meant, so I asked, “What’s X?”  The meal.  That was unusual, but I guess that, even in a place as honest as this, they make sure people leave a card at the bar before getting toasted.  I handed her my debit card and just told her to charge it all.  We went outside with our beers and lit up a pair of Opus X, our celebratory cigars for finally being in McCarthy.  While we were waiting, the owner of the bar came out and chatted us up.  After about ten minutes, Sokol went in to see if the food was ready, since the bartender had said that we would have to bring it out ourselves.  It was not ready, but she brought it out anyway a couple of minutes later.

We ate and smoked and drank, and it was veritable feast.  A husky came up to us, and I gave him a bite of my steak, knowing full well he would wait all day for a second bite.  I didn’t give him one, but I let him lick the plate clean.  I then asked Sokol if was going to finish his vegetables.  Knowing I wanted to give it to the dog, he said that he was, but that I could let him lick the plate clean.  I did.  Then a woman came up to us asking if it was our dog?  She has a piece of food in her hand.  I said that it wasn’t our dog but that we had been feeding it.  After we finished our beers, I told Sokol to start walking away slowly.  He did, and we took some pictures of “downtown McCarthy,” such as it is.  I got my computer, and we found a nice place to finish our cigars.  I uploaded my photos, and Sokol asked me if I paid for the dinner.  I told them that I didn’t.  I wasn’t sure how he could have possibly believed me.  Where were going to go?  We were smoking our cigars across the street from the bar.  There would have been no way to “get away.”  He almost went back to the bar and paid the bill himself.  I convinced him not to do so.  In a first, I finished my cigar before he did, since he always smoke much faster than.  Sokol asked me if today was going to be a short entry, since we didn’t really do much.  I told him that I wasn’t sure.  It is now the equivalent of 14 pages of a hardcover book.  We managed to open the window, which was locked, almost breaking it in the process, and I proceed to write this entry, which I will now close before I run on to a fifth MS Word page so that I can publish and get a good sleep before our day tomorrow.