Wednesday 7/25
We didn’t get started until noon today—same old, same old. We’re on our way to Valdez.
The road has the most pronounced frost heaves we’ve experienced so far. A roller coaster ride we dub the “Humpty Dumpty Bumpies”.
As we approached Valdez, Nancy and I were aware that Valdez is the terminus of the Alaska Pipeline and was the site of the infamous 1989 Exxon Valdez oil spill. We have images of the oil soaked birds and sea otters and the devastation of hundreds of miles of coastline (more about that later).
Our guidebooks reminded us that 25 years earlier, in 1964, Valdez was near the epicenter of a 9.2 earthquake (the biggest in our history—more about that later).
Our guidebooks also told us that the drive into Valdez is spectacularly beautiful (I know I’m using “spectacular” a lot, but I forgot my Thesaurus and “spectacular” and its synonyms are happening quite a bit on this trip).
The approach to Valdez is through and over huge, angular mountains. Some are snow-capped, rocky crags, but many are covered in lush green brush so that they look almost tropical. At every turn there is another awe-inspiring vista. The closer we get to Valdez, the more glaciers we see. Some are high, pinched between mountain peaks, with their iridescent blue faces glowing down at us. Others are near the road, and we can look up at their ice fields that stretch to the horizon. These glaciers spawn a profusion of rivulets, cascading streams, and waterfalls, all vaguely turquoise with glacier silt.
We stop at the summit of Thompson Pass (2,800 feet) to gasp at the breathtaking 360° view of the surrounding peaks and mountain meadows.
There are funky upside down “L” shaped poles along the road. They’re obviously intended to help with the snow here (they get over 300 inches a year). We learn that the horizontal part of the “L” has reflectors that help drivers in white-out conditions when they otherwise would have no idea where the road was.
We descend precipitously to the valley below and drive the remaining few miles across the narrow valley floor to the small city of Valdez (population 4,464).
Imagine that you are in the neck of a funnel. The neck is filled with softly bluish water. You look up at steep and sharply angled walls on all sides. The walls are not tin or plastic, but rather, immense mountains. The rim of the funnel is lined with snow. The sky is a mull of grays and blues, clouds and mist, rain and sun changing subtly but constantly. The water of the bay is as flat as glass and reflects the mountains and the sky brilliantly. This is Valdez…we had no idea.
Valdez is beautiful, but it is also a city of contrasts. Across the harbor from the city is the oil facility and docks at the end of the pipeline. They’re a mile or so away, distant enough that they are not ugly, but they are out of place against the backdrop of the mountains. The 1989 oil spill was an ecological disaster for Prince William Sound of which Valdez Bay is a part. There is little visible evidence of the spill, but the Sound in still decades from total recovery. It would be reasonable for the locals to harbor enmity toward oil and the pipeline over the spill, but we saw none. The pipeline and oil are an important part of this economy and culture. In the distant aftermath of the spill they are very focused on preventing a recurrence and proud of the changes that have been made to make the process safer.
The other big disaster for this area was the 1964 9.2 earthquake. It lasted over 4 minutes and dropped the original town from a bluff to sea level. A huge tidal wave followed that washed much of what was left of the town into the bay. Boats, cabins, and homesteads around the bay disappeared. Remarkably only 30 people were killed. What was left of the town was moved a couple miles to a new site, and the resilient people of Valdez started over.
This afternoon, we took the CJ across the bay to Allison Point (right next to the oil facility) and I fished for salmon. Well sort of fished. The pink salmon are running in the bay. The locals disparage the “pinks” as too soft to eat (these are probably the salmon they ship to us). Since the “pinks” rarely eat when they’re schooling in the bay before heading up stream to spawn, the only catching is by foul-hooking the fish. You throw in your lure, drag it quickly through the water, and “whack” you hook a salmon in the tail or side or whatever. It’s a heck of a fight when you get one of these 5-10 pound fish hooked in the tail, but it just doesn’t seem fair. I caught one fish and decided it was sport, but not sporting.
Nancy birded (new bird, the Pigeon Guillemot), we saw some seals having a REALLY good time eating salmon, and some otters equally enjoying themselves, then headed back across the bay to bed.
