No we didn’t go on a cruise. This is the first statement I must make after mentioning we’ve been to Alaska. It was winter. There are no cruise ships in winter, we flew there. Now that I’ve got that off my chest let me tell you how I’m seriously considering a writing class, or at least purchasing a thesaurus before attempting the following entry. A wintry Alaskan adventure requires an writing expertise that generally evades my humble ramblings.
Alaska, in the winter, is a final frontier. A place populated only by those seeking to escape the rest of the world, or working in someway with the oil reserves that fuel it. It’s so far north, that a mere map doesn’t do it justice. It the part of the globe that’s actually flat, cause its just so close to the northern pole. Trees stop growing. Forest becomes tundra. Only a few of the planet’s most resilient species go this far north, where even the sun’s rays fear to reach.
This is the earth’s 66th parallel. An invisible line reached only by a gravel road covered in ice. We were lucky during our visit, at –25°c it was relatively mild.
Exiting Fairbanks airport, the icy air chilled my lungs. My first breath aggravated my airways like a cloud of exhaust fumes. To breathe only through my nose, and gently, was my first lesson. The Christmas morning drive north to the Arctic Circle was a 13 hour round trip. The soft light from the sun hovering inches above the horizon came and went in a few short hours, driving north only accelerated the sunset.
Alaska is a huge contradiction. Its boundless, fragile beauty accessible only due to a massive zigzagging pipeline pumping toxic oil across the state. The infamous Dalton highway roughly follows this pipeline north, after about 300 kms we take the turn off for a wee little sign marking our arrival at 66° 33’ N. I tried to write my name in the snow. But, another new experience for me, at such cold temperatures I had trouble peeing.
After plenty of photos and hot chocolate we headed a little further south, back to the Yukon River. This is where we waited for our first glimpse of the Northern Lights. A glimpse is all we got, a faint green band in the northern sky. But the wind had picked up, incapacitating arctic winds that blow so frequently at this latitude. As I exhaled the moisture from my breath absorbed into my balaclava, which instantly froze. Now I had my balaclava frozen to ice clumps already hanging in my moustache and beard. As the hairs were ripped from my face whenever I moved my head I realized just how serious this place is. Wind chill is never to be underestimated.
A brief visit to the University of Alaska Museum followed by an outing to Wal-Mart for some swimming shorts preceded our next adventure to the Chena Hot Springs. This custom built resort just happened to be the perfect place to enjoy 40°c springs in –20°c weather, a difference of more than 100° Fahrenheit - greater than the range of most common thermometers - and supposedly just the thing to either invigorate or induce a heart attack.
It was at the Chena Hot Springs were we also enjoyed the ice museum. A climate controlled building made purely of ice filled with the world’s most elaborate ice carvings. The museum, at a constant –5°C felt like a heated arena, compared to the blustery conditions outside. We sat and enjoyed our Martini’s in our own ice glass.
But the challenge of the hot springs remained. Stripping down the 6 layers I was wearing to my shorts in the heated change rooms was manageable. But then standing at the exit, with occasional icy blasts ripping into the building whenever the door was opened put doubt in my mind. Every time the door opened, the outside temperature was so cold it dropped the temperature of the door below zero, the warm moist air inside would then condense and freeze. It was daunting just opening an ice-covered door. It was an accurate symbol of what lay beyond.
With Shona’s encouragement and some very serious deep breaths, I walked outside. The brightly light, steamy indoor pool was a stark contrast to the dark abyss we walked into. The frozen icy path burned my feet, wind ripped through me robbing me of body heat, the human body would last only minutes in this kind of temperature. I seemed to crouch into an upright fetal position, legs and arms shaking at this unfathomable extreme they were being subjected to. Each step hurt. I tried to walk faster but couldn’t. The steam rising from the hot pools clouded my vision and the blistering cold blurred my mind. A slippery ramp entered the warm water, my first steps in felt of searing pain as the hot water was a intense opposite to the icy path. But I dare not stop, the pain in my feet was a lesser of two evils. The shocking temperature change had me shaking for several minutes after I first left the change rooms. But I eventually calmed down as the warm water removed every chill. The steam built up in my hair, eyebrows, eyelashes and beard. It all froze. I was happy to be warm again.
The exiting of the pool was far, far less traumatic, pedestrian even. We were even more excited now, as the overcast skies had cleared and hopefully, we’d be lucky enough to witness another showing of the Northern Lights. Our tiny tripod and compact camera we’re dwarfed by the photographic equipment of the numerous Japanese tourists around us. To our good fortune their flashy expensive tour included a 30 second warning to when the next light show might be seen. So we merrily munched on junk food and when the Japanese tourists starting picking up their gear we knew that was our cue to get outside and witness the spectacle.
And what a spectacle it is, a jaw dropping lights show that could be mistaken for mind-altered hallucinations. Whether you understand the science behind the display is irrelevant as to how much you can enjoy it. Like a giant highlight across the sky, green bands came and went, dulled and brightened and one was even generous enough to dance for us. It shimmied and shined, twinkled and twisted above us giving a taste of just how incredible the event can be.
We returned to our hotel exhausted, able to catch just a few hours sleep before embarking on one of the world’s best train trips. North America’s only flag stop train running from Fairbanks to Anchorage stopping for every spectacular photo opportunity and whenever wildlife is spotted. Shona had an absolute blast.
Anchorage, Alaska’s most populous city was tropical. On arrival the temperature hit 1°C. It was a freakish heat wave. Locals were in shorts. I think I even saw someone have a dip in the local pool just to cool off. Perhaps I’m exaggerating, but the temperature gain was appreciated. We hired a car and checked out Aleyska, the nearby ski resort town, and a wildlife refuge centre were we got some great pics of moose, caribou, bison, reindeer and even a restless bear. We rode snow machines (not snow mobiles) around a snow blanketed gold mine. The area is surrounded by countless glaciers and pristine lakes, just mind the oil left over from 1989’s Exxon Valdez tanker catastrophe. Those responsible for that atrocity are fit for the electric chair.
But what really finished off the trip was New Year’s Eve, not the night, but the day leading up to it. A brilliantly clear day, which was spent dogsledding. The temperature had dropped again to –20°c and we spent a few hours on a property that was home to 42 dogs. 12 of these energetic little mutts pulled Shona, myself and their owner around 16km of frozen lakes and forest trails. It’s not a comfortable ride, and watching a dog running and pooing at the same time is disturbing. So is the small amount of inevitable splatter.
We froze. These little puppies can hit 20km/hr. We unleashed two dogs at the end of our first outing, going from a V12 to a V10 engine I guess as I took over the “drivers seat” and went out with the owner, Justin, on my own little endeavor. I froze some more. The freezing wind generated by being pulled by these dogs blows into your eyes, resulting in tears. The tears wet your eyelashes and then freeze together, after a while you end up with some kind of frosted equilibrated balance of having your eyes open enough to see, but not so the wind stings too much. “Ge” you would command so that they’d turn right. “Ha” if you wanted to go left. That sometimes worked, the lead dogs sometimes wouldn’t obey. But they all loved the commands “Ready” and “Go”, they always obeyed them. After about an hour, Justin, the owner looked at my blue lips and face and decided I’d had enough and made our way back to the kennels. Bloody good fun. An added bonus was sighting Mt McKinley, America's tallest mountain at 6193m.
We watched the evening’s firework show standing on the snow in the town square. Walking around town there is always an occasional surge of uneasiness as your footing slips on the icy footpaths and roads. After too much beer and the realization of how exhausted we were from the days events I stormed home at 12:01am, with a display of running, sliding and dancing on the town square ice rink with reckless abandon.
To finish off the story here are the top 5 moose related puns we enjoyed:
5 - Make the Moose out of life
4 - Mooscellaneous (The name of a gift shop)
3 - Moose America (Beauty pageant for moose)
2 - America’s Moose Wanted, (A bad ass fugitive moose) and finally
1 - I Moose have a hug.
The world's most indirect travellors - Josh and Shona.
PS Shona has an even larger collection of photos on her Facebook page called "Alaska" that is available for public viewing.
PPS If you like the story and photos tell us. It makes us feel good.
