Tuesday 7-31
Some of us are becoming too familiar with the signs of aging: aches and pains, sleeplessness, irregularity, receding hair-lines, raging ear hair, reorganized physiques, and I almost forgot, forgetfulness…but it dawned on me this morning that the clearest sign of getting old, is the overpowering need to have breakfast at McDonald’s. Having returned to urban civilization, Nancy and I decided that this morning, “we deserved a break today, so we got up and got away to McDonald’s”. There’s nothing like a good, healthy oval of hash browns to kick-start the day.
The two principal missions today were to sign up for Medicare Part “B” (also a pretty good harbinger of aging), and get the Admiral’s jacks fixed. In the latter regard we were foiled by scheduling—EVERY RV repair service in town is booked for more than a week—so we’ll delay the repairs until our return passage through lovely Anchorage. With regard to Medicare, we were pleasantly surprised. We had thought I had to sign up right away, but we were advised I could wait for up to 8 months, and that works out well for us—plus we had prompt and courteous service which enabled us to escape Anchorage more quickly. On the way out of town, we stopped at Costco, Wal-Mart, and Fred Meyer to re-provision. At Wal-Mart we encountered the most macho RV we’ve ever seen. This thing was built on the frame of a retired missile launcher…HUGE tires, 4 wheel drive, camo paint, a monster. We did not get a look inside, but we’re thinking it’s done in pastels, possibly pink.
What a difference 20 miles makes. Just south of Anchorage the real Alaska re-emerges. We’re on the Turnagain Arm of the Cook Inlet. The tides here are dramatic, and they’re just beginning to rise across vast mud flats. Our daughter warned us about these siren mud flats that are really like quicksand. People venture out onto these plains to explore and beachcomb, sink into the mud, and drown or disappear. A well-defined fear of quicksand is also a sign of being old. Back in the day, quicksand was a key feature of most westerns and every Tarzan movie. Contemporary films have lots of drugs, violence, and sex. Seems to me we ought to replace some of the drugs and violence with good old fashioned quicksand. As we head south, so does the powerful tide, and as it meets the out-flowing river, the confluence produces intensely turbulent waves. We pass Bird Creek where 30 or more salmon fishermen are lined up on the banks with military precision. We overnight overlooking Turnagain Inlet and the mountains on the far shore. Beats the heck out of the “Golden Nugget”.
7-31 Pictures
Macho RV Built On Missile Launcher
Driving South Along Cook Inlet
Cook Inlet Mud Flats
More Mud Flats
More Mud
And Even MORE Mud
Tide Churning Against The River
More Churning Tide
Into Anchorage
Monday 7-30
We got a relatively early start this morning on our way into Anchorage. As we moved west, ominous, dark, storm clouds began to gather—which leads us to Ichabod. While we were at the first campsite in Valdez, we had cable TV. Over 150 channels. Marconi would have been VERY proud. Ichabod was our nickname for the local weather guy who was about 7’ tall and couldn’t have weighed more than 8 pounds…super-slender and a great prognosticator. He gave us a 10-day forecast, and so far he’s been on the money. Speaking of weather, they have a lot of it in Alaska. Alaska is about as big as North Carolina, New York, Mississippi, Pennsylvania, Louisiana, Tennessee, Ohio, Kentucky, Virginia, Indiana, Maine, South Carolina, West Virginia, Maryland, Vermont, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, New Jersey, Hawaii, Connecticut, Delaware, AND Rhode Island put together. It has more coastline than all of the rest of the USA combined. It’s longer north to south and east to west than any other state. It’s BIG, it has very diverse climates, and there are lots of people whose lives depend on the weather, so they take it very seriously here.
The weather is a big part of the day today. Amid very dramatic skies, we stop at Matanuska Glacier. Because you can see it stretch back to the distant horizon, it’s very impressive.
We take a brief hike in the state park at the glacier and see a new bird, the Yellow Rumped Warbler (makes you wonder if birds categorize us by our body parts…one sparrow to the next, “Oh Look! A “Fat-Rumped Waddler”!)
We’re hiking through a huge stand of Aspen trees and learn that all of the thousands of trees around us are clones of a single plant. Apparently Aspen seeds will not easily germinate in this climate or soil, so a single tree sends out shoots that sprout into other tree stalks, so all of the trees around us are part of a single organism. Among these Aspens (they all look alike to me) we find some cool, blonde tree moss and decorate each other with it (for some reason it looks better on Nancy than on me). Before we leave the park, we take pictures of the pig in this natural setting. The pig is part of a key chain. It “oinks” and lights up when stimulated. It was given to me as a retirement gift by PJ. Thanks, PJ. Pigs were my mom’s favorite animals, and this pig reminds us of her—“oink, oink”.
We have a good animal day: mother and baby moose, artic fox, and a dozen or so bald eagles. We also come upon a truck called a “Putzmeister”. Need I say more?
The day, which starts well, ends dismally as we enter Anchorage where we are hoping to have the leveler jacks on the Admiral repaired and to visit the Social Security Office. Oh Anchorage, how do I describe thee?
Is it thy gray and artless architecture or thy teaming topless temples?
Or is it the RV parks that adorn thee? One is wombed in a railroad yard,
one is adjoining a tattoo parlor (body art not required for admission),
and the “Golden Nugget”, where we landed, has 215 RV sites crowded into a tiny, muddy parcel surrounded by barbed concertina wire in the heart of the lead smelting district—odious. But, “hey”, we’re only here for a day or two, and it’s the first time in over a month we’ve seen a McDonald’s!
We got a relatively early start this morning on our way into Anchorage. As we moved west, ominous, dark, storm clouds began to gather—which leads us to Ichabod. While we were at the first campsite in Valdez, we had cable TV. Over 150 channels. Marconi would have been VERY proud. Ichabod was our nickname for the local weather guy who was about 7’ tall and couldn’t have weighed more than 8 pounds…super-slender and a great prognosticator. He gave us a 10-day forecast, and so far he’s been on the money. Speaking of weather, they have a lot of it in Alaska. Alaska is about as big as North Carolina, New York, Mississippi, Pennsylvania, Louisiana, Tennessee, Ohio, Kentucky, Virginia, Indiana, Maine, South Carolina, West Virginia, Maryland, Vermont, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, New Jersey, Hawaii, Connecticut, Delaware, AND Rhode Island put together. It has more coastline than all of the rest of the USA combined. It’s longer north to south and east to west than any other state. It’s BIG, it has very diverse climates, and there are lots of people whose lives depend on the weather, so they take it very seriously here.
The weather is a big part of the day today. Amid very dramatic skies, we stop at Matanuska Glacier. Because you can see it stretch back to the distant horizon, it’s very impressive.
We take a brief hike in the state park at the glacier and see a new bird, the Yellow Rumped Warbler (makes you wonder if birds categorize us by our body parts…one sparrow to the next, “Oh Look! A “Fat-Rumped Waddler”!)
We’re hiking through a huge stand of Aspen trees and learn that all of the thousands of trees around us are clones of a single plant. Apparently Aspen seeds will not easily germinate in this climate or soil, so a single tree sends out shoots that sprout into other tree stalks, so all of the trees around us are part of a single organism. Among these Aspens (they all look alike to me) we find some cool, blonde tree moss and decorate each other with it (for some reason it looks better on Nancy than on me). Before we leave the park, we take pictures of the pig in this natural setting. The pig is part of a key chain. It “oinks” and lights up when stimulated. It was given to me as a retirement gift by PJ. Thanks, PJ. Pigs were my mom’s favorite animals, and this pig reminds us of her—“oink, oink”.
We have a good animal day: mother and baby moose, artic fox, and a dozen or so bald eagles. We also come upon a truck called a “Putzmeister”. Need I say more?
The day, which starts well, ends dismally as we enter Anchorage where we are hoping to have the leveler jacks on the Admiral repaired and to visit the Social Security Office. Oh Anchorage, how do I describe thee?
Is it thy gray and artless architecture or thy teaming topless temples?
Or is it the RV parks that adorn thee? One is wombed in a railroad yard,
one is adjoining a tattoo parlor (body art not required for admission),
and the “Golden Nugget”, where we landed, has 215 RV sites crowded into a tiny, muddy parcel surrounded by barbed concertina wire in the heart of the lead smelting district—odious. But, “hey”, we’re only here for a day or two, and it’s the first time in over a month we’ve seen a McDonald’s!
7-30 Pictures
Morning Clouds/Mountains/And Glaciers
More Clouds (The Sun Disappears Quickly)
Clouds At The Top Of The Pass
Scenic Overlook
The Pig On A Post Overlooking Matanuska Glacier
Oink Oink
The Glacier
The Glacier Up Closer
The Aspen Clones
Brian Decorated With Tree Moss
Nancy With Just A Touch
One Last Look At The Glacier
Two Moose Crossing
The Road Ahead To Anchorage
Our Lunch Stop
The Perfect Anchorage Vehicle
Adios Valdez
Sunday 7-29
Yesterday we were forced by an incoming caravan to leave our original campsite in the center of Valdez and move to a campground on the shore of the bay--a not unpropitious development, but nonetheless, we abhor caravans. Well, maybe “abhor” is a little strong, but we don’t understand the caravan mentality. Caravans are sometimes quite large groups of RVs led by a “wagon master”. You pay to participate in these wagon trains and then cede your independence to a gaggle of like-vehicles stopping when, where, and for as long as the wagon master dictates. Yuk. We see travel by RV as an essentially private experience. Since we carry our own home with us, we can dictate our own schedule, pick our own stopovers, and live independently. For us, the Admiral is the anti-hotel, anti-cruise ship, anti-tour bus. Maybe the participants in caravans are worried about being attacked by Bedouin raiders? I can see it now, a legion of white burnouses bobbing gracefully on their camels, plunging out of the mountains to surround the circling RVs with their long rifles popping puffs of smoke as they fire away. There in the center is the fearless wagon master waving his atlas at the invaders and shouting bravely, “STOP! STOP! WE HAVE A SCHEDULE TO KEEP”. But I digress…
This morning we reluctantly leave Valdez. This place has been good to us, and we’ll miss it. To bid us a fond and final farewell, Valdez Bay delivers us a spectacular day…cloudless sky, placid waters, flocks of crying gulls, and schools of leaping salmon. Oh my, how beautiful this place is.
As we climb out of the valley, over Thompson Pass, we get a new perspective on the mountains that surround Valdez, and, despite having taken hundreds of pictures on the way in, also take hundreds on the way out. As we drive through the Horsetail Falls gorge, there is a heavy mist floating above the Lowe River—magical.
Along the highway on our way towards Anchorage we continue to notice how many of the roadside signs have been objects of target practice. We saw some of this in Canada, but in Alaska virtually EVERY sign has been victimized. We’ve spent an inordinate amount of time pondering this phenomenon. Are Canadians more passive? Can they afford less ammo? We think the true answer is that Americans are just better marksmen. That suggests we should have some kind of organized competition to determine the world’s greatest sign shooters--an updated, X-games version of the biathlon. Instead of shooting at trees from cross-country skis, competitors in the Signathlon would fire at road signs from moving pickup trucks. The good ole’ USA will sweep the medals in this one.
After a short driving day, we spent the night near the Nelchina River--very nice view. As we make the difficult choice between Pepperoni and Supreme, another RV nestles in behind us…perhaps the lone survivor of a caravan attack?
Yesterday we were forced by an incoming caravan to leave our original campsite in the center of Valdez and move to a campground on the shore of the bay--a not unpropitious development, but nonetheless, we abhor caravans. Well, maybe “abhor” is a little strong, but we don’t understand the caravan mentality. Caravans are sometimes quite large groups of RVs led by a “wagon master”. You pay to participate in these wagon trains and then cede your independence to a gaggle of like-vehicles stopping when, where, and for as long as the wagon master dictates. Yuk. We see travel by RV as an essentially private experience. Since we carry our own home with us, we can dictate our own schedule, pick our own stopovers, and live independently. For us, the Admiral is the anti-hotel, anti-cruise ship, anti-tour bus. Maybe the participants in caravans are worried about being attacked by Bedouin raiders? I can see it now, a legion of white burnouses bobbing gracefully on their camels, plunging out of the mountains to surround the circling RVs with their long rifles popping puffs of smoke as they fire away. There in the center is the fearless wagon master waving his atlas at the invaders and shouting bravely, “STOP! STOP! WE HAVE A SCHEDULE TO KEEP”. But I digress…
This morning we reluctantly leave Valdez. This place has been good to us, and we’ll miss it. To bid us a fond and final farewell, Valdez Bay delivers us a spectacular day…cloudless sky, placid waters, flocks of crying gulls, and schools of leaping salmon. Oh my, how beautiful this place is.
As we climb out of the valley, over Thompson Pass, we get a new perspective on the mountains that surround Valdez, and, despite having taken hundreds of pictures on the way in, also take hundreds on the way out. As we drive through the Horsetail Falls gorge, there is a heavy mist floating above the Lowe River—magical.
Along the highway on our way towards Anchorage we continue to notice how many of the roadside signs have been objects of target practice. We saw some of this in Canada, but in Alaska virtually EVERY sign has been victimized. We’ve spent an inordinate amount of time pondering this phenomenon. Are Canadians more passive? Can they afford less ammo? We think the true answer is that Americans are just better marksmen. That suggests we should have some kind of organized competition to determine the world’s greatest sign shooters--an updated, X-games version of the biathlon. Instead of shooting at trees from cross-country skis, competitors in the Signathlon would fire at road signs from moving pickup trucks. The good ole’ USA will sweep the medals in this one.
After a short driving day, we spent the night near the Nelchina River--very nice view. As we make the difficult choice between Pepperoni and Supreme, another RV nestles in behind us…perhaps the lone survivor of a caravan attack?
7-29 Pictures
View In The AM From Our Valdez Shore-Side Campsite
Hundreds Of Gulls Right In Front Of Us
Snow-Capped Peaks All Around Us
Mist On The Lowe River
Panorama From Thompson Pass
Worthington Glacier
We Stop To Fish
Big Mountains On The Nelchina
USA Finishes 1-2-3 In Signathlon
Here We Go Shoupe de Shoupe, Here We Go Shoupe De La
Saturday 7-28
It just keeps on getting better in old Valdez. Rested after SlugFest and still flush from our ocean voyage with Captain Stan, we inflated Das Bot and headed into the Sound to do some exploring on our own.
As you will learn, Das Bot performed magnificently but we must admit the “little inflatable that can” has somewhat of a self-esteem problem. While we were occupying one boat ramp and our electric pump was huffing and puffing to fill each of Das Bot’s separate air chambers, several more-mighty boats with monster motors slid effortlessly into the water from the adjacent ramp. No one audibly snickered or laughed at our little craft but we KNEW what they were thinking.
Nonetheless, we successfully equipped and launched Das Bot and chugged from the quaint harbor into a placid Valdez Bay. While our previous days in Valdez have been dramatically cloudy, today was our first day of brilliant sunshine. We were afloat in a liquid Eden of turquoise blue, warmed by the sun, and eager to wander.
Our destination…Shoupe Glacier.
We saw a glimpse of this glacier two days ago, but it’s mostly hidden behind the mountains and protected by a shallow, figure eight-shaped bay that larger boats can’t navigate, so we expected we’d get a much better view in Das Bot. Happily we underestimated the opportunity.
In the “flat” water (we now know the right terminology), Das Bot responsively planed and we zipped forward. Along the way we stopped occasionally to observe some of the many birds, a couple of sea lions, and an otter or two.
As we turned into the first cove of Shoupe Bay, the glacier became more visible and as we motored across the cove (a mile or so) it grew and grew. At the far end of the first cove it’s difficult to see where the outer cove is connected to the inner, so we slowly followed the shore looking for an opening. This shore line is actually the “terminal moraine” of the glacier—the farthest point to which it has ever advanced at which point it leaves a mound of rubble. Flowing through this rubble we soon found a swift and very shallow stream—runoff from the melting glacier. To navigate this stream I tilted the motor so that it drew the least possible water, and stood to get a better view of the rocks below. I’m felt a little like Captain Cook as I threaded my way between the banks—very exhilarated. As we entered the inner bay, we encountered two bald eagles calmly perched on the branches of dead trees. They were unbothered by our presence and we were able to get quite close to them. The glacier was now huge and dominating in front of us, though we didn’t realize it was still more than a mile away. A gull screeched a warning as it dove at our boat. We thought we must be near a nest--then rounded a small island to discover a rookery on the leeward side with hundreds of nesting gulls. Beyond, there were several other islands, each with a rookery. These island rookeries were covered with guano, nests, and thousands of screaming birds. The air around the islands was filled with gulls. Wow!
We motored slowly toward the glacier and began to notice chunks of ice flowing past us. On a shore of black sand we stopped for lunch thinking that the glacier was within walking distance. As we ate two kayaks and a small tour boat entered the bay through a different notch in the moraine, and made their way toward the face of the glacier. As they got closer to the ice, it became clear to us that we were not as close to the glacier as we had thought and that it was much bigger than we had imagined. After lunch we motored the rest of the way and walked to the face of the glacier. At its base we were like ants at the edge of a curb. It towered above us. We had seen a cave in the face of the glacier soon after we entered the inner bay. As we neared the glacier we could see that this cave was 20 or 30 feet high and spewing gray, silty water into the bay. From deep in the cave we could sometimes hear throaty rumbles and minutes later huge chunks of ice would tumble from it and be dragged into the bay by the current. The face of the glacier was a profusion of waterfalls big and small—melt water cascading from exposed crevasses and polishing their electric blue surfaces. I briefly went right up to the wall of ice to make snowballs, but quickly retreated—nervous about the leaning, giant, icy spires that towered above me.
We’ve had many inspiring moments on this trip, but standing in the bright sunshine, on the black stone moraine of this remote cove, at the base of this magnificent glacier was certainly the equal of any.
Motoring back through the inner lagoon and past the nesting gulls we found the mouth of the other channel to the outer cove. By now, the tide had turned and was rushing in against the out-flowing glacier stream—turbulent waters against which Das Bot flexed its muscle. As we entered the outer cove it was clear that the water was no longer flat. The wind had picked up and we fought waves of 2’ or more on our return to the harbor—first against these waves into their irreverent slapping of Das Bot’s bow, and then with the waves surfing into the trough…straining up to the top of the next crest…then surfing down again.
We are now safely back at the Admiral. This day is certainly in the Top 5 of our trip.
It just keeps on getting better in old Valdez. Rested after SlugFest and still flush from our ocean voyage with Captain Stan, we inflated Das Bot and headed into the Sound to do some exploring on our own.
As you will learn, Das Bot performed magnificently but we must admit the “little inflatable that can” has somewhat of a self-esteem problem. While we were occupying one boat ramp and our electric pump was huffing and puffing to fill each of Das Bot’s separate air chambers, several more-mighty boats with monster motors slid effortlessly into the water from the adjacent ramp. No one audibly snickered or laughed at our little craft but we KNEW what they were thinking.
Nonetheless, we successfully equipped and launched Das Bot and chugged from the quaint harbor into a placid Valdez Bay. While our previous days in Valdez have been dramatically cloudy, today was our first day of brilliant sunshine. We were afloat in a liquid Eden of turquoise blue, warmed by the sun, and eager to wander.
Our destination…Shoupe Glacier.
We saw a glimpse of this glacier two days ago, but it’s mostly hidden behind the mountains and protected by a shallow, figure eight-shaped bay that larger boats can’t navigate, so we expected we’d get a much better view in Das Bot. Happily we underestimated the opportunity.
In the “flat” water (we now know the right terminology), Das Bot responsively planed and we zipped forward. Along the way we stopped occasionally to observe some of the many birds, a couple of sea lions, and an otter or two.
As we turned into the first cove of Shoupe Bay, the glacier became more visible and as we motored across the cove (a mile or so) it grew and grew. At the far end of the first cove it’s difficult to see where the outer cove is connected to the inner, so we slowly followed the shore looking for an opening. This shore line is actually the “terminal moraine” of the glacier—the farthest point to which it has ever advanced at which point it leaves a mound of rubble. Flowing through this rubble we soon found a swift and very shallow stream—runoff from the melting glacier. To navigate this stream I tilted the motor so that it drew the least possible water, and stood to get a better view of the rocks below. I’m felt a little like Captain Cook as I threaded my way between the banks—very exhilarated. As we entered the inner bay, we encountered two bald eagles calmly perched on the branches of dead trees. They were unbothered by our presence and we were able to get quite close to them. The glacier was now huge and dominating in front of us, though we didn’t realize it was still more than a mile away. A gull screeched a warning as it dove at our boat. We thought we must be near a nest--then rounded a small island to discover a rookery on the leeward side with hundreds of nesting gulls. Beyond, there were several other islands, each with a rookery. These island rookeries were covered with guano, nests, and thousands of screaming birds. The air around the islands was filled with gulls. Wow!
We motored slowly toward the glacier and began to notice chunks of ice flowing past us. On a shore of black sand we stopped for lunch thinking that the glacier was within walking distance. As we ate two kayaks and a small tour boat entered the bay through a different notch in the moraine, and made their way toward the face of the glacier. As they got closer to the ice, it became clear to us that we were not as close to the glacier as we had thought and that it was much bigger than we had imagined. After lunch we motored the rest of the way and walked to the face of the glacier. At its base we were like ants at the edge of a curb. It towered above us. We had seen a cave in the face of the glacier soon after we entered the inner bay. As we neared the glacier we could see that this cave was 20 or 30 feet high and spewing gray, silty water into the bay. From deep in the cave we could sometimes hear throaty rumbles and minutes later huge chunks of ice would tumble from it and be dragged into the bay by the current. The face of the glacier was a profusion of waterfalls big and small—melt water cascading from exposed crevasses and polishing their electric blue surfaces. I briefly went right up to the wall of ice to make snowballs, but quickly retreated—nervous about the leaning, giant, icy spires that towered above me.
We’ve had many inspiring moments on this trip, but standing in the bright sunshine, on the black stone moraine of this remote cove, at the base of this magnificent glacier was certainly the equal of any.
Motoring back through the inner lagoon and past the nesting gulls we found the mouth of the other channel to the outer cove. By now, the tide had turned and was rushing in against the out-flowing glacier stream—turbulent waters against which Das Bot flexed its muscle. As we entered the outer cove it was clear that the water was no longer flat. The wind had picked up and we fought waves of 2’ or more on our return to the harbor—first against these waves into their irreverent slapping of Das Bot’s bow, and then with the waves surfing into the trough…straining up to the top of the next crest…then surfing down again.
We are now safely back at the Admiral. This day is certainly in the Top 5 of our trip.
7-28 Pictures
Cool Fog And Clouds As We Head Out In Das Bot
The Seas Are "Flat"
We're Headed For That Point
There Are Other Boats In This Beautiful Bowl
We're Surrounded
Shoupe In The Back Bay
Bald And Beautiful
We're Getting Closer!
Eagles Are Aloft
All Those Things Are Nesting Gulls
We're Approaching The Glacier
Lunch On The Black Sand
That Black Cave Is 20' Plus Tall
Das Bot Docked Near The Glacier
The Glacier Surface
Nancy & Brian At Glacier
Nancy At Glacier--Cave Is Still W-A-Y Back There
Brian Closer To Face
Ice Chunks Flowing Out Of Cave
Ice Chunks Pushed Downstream
We're Headed Away From Shoupe
Rocks On The Moraine
Bird Island
Birds Are EVERYWHERE
Gulls On A Bar
Heading Into The Harbor After A Bumpy Ride Home
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