Alaska 2011

Traversing the last frontier, camera on-hand.
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I just got back from 8 days in Alaska, and found that I can't go on with life without looking back at what came to pass (yes, it really IS that dramatic). In short, Alaska is a magical place. Not like anything you'll see elsewhere in this country. We had a special treat in going this time of year - around summer solstice - because the Arctic sun makes for just about 24 hours of sunlight.
That means that midnight doesn't actually feel like midnight. It's more like 7:30 or 8 p.m. in the summer, with the sun dipping low on the horizon, before coming back up. By 2:30am, it's already sunrise.


This isn't entirely a plus. In some ways, our time there felt like one drawn-out day. Some nights it would be 1 a.m. and we just wouldn't feel like sleeping. The light in the sky played tricks with our internal clocks. And, since I've lived in a temperate zone most of my life, I would often forget that it never got dark, sometimes worrying that if we drove home "too late" we would end up driving in dangerous darkness through the woods.

The trip started in Fairbanks for my mom's school reunion. We were tagging along for the ride and she had asked me to play some songs during welcome night. I obliged. It was the group's smallest reunion yet - I think travel costs factored in a lot - but all were just as enthusiastic as those Sillimanians (graduates of Silliman University in the Philippines) often are.

The plane ride was incredible. We had taken a red-eye flight, so it was strange to see the sky go from dark blue to a lighter pastel. We could see the sun peeking in on one side of the plane, despite the fact that it was 1:30 am Alaska time. From the other side of the plane, the moon hovered mysteriously, casting a lovely reflection on the glassy ocean. Water soon made way to the most majestic mountains I've ever seen - moreso than the Rockies or the Alps. Snow overtook the summits and the silhouettes were jagged, bold, an indicator of what we were getting ourselves into: a place where the wilderness dominates.

The crappy part was our 4.5-hour layover in Anchorage. At first, though, all I could think about was that this was the airport where I first set foot on the U.S. as a 5-year-old. I had traveled with my grandparents and my sister in 1991, and our layover was there. I remembered tracing the unfamiliar landscape with my eyes. It was before me again, and I'd soon learn that those distant mountains were part of the Chugach National Forest - the second largest in the US after Denali.

We arrived in Fairbanks in the morning, all travel-weary and disoriented from lack of sleep at Anchorage's super air-conditioned airport (me and Rob took turns laying out on one of the uncomfortable gate seats). That first day was mostly a blur, but the next day, after a quick morning acapella performance with my sister and Minji, we got to explore the city some more. We took a bus to see the Alyeska Pipeline - an 800-mile pipeline that takes oil from Prudhoe Bay in the Arctic Circle down to Valdez in the south. The existence of the pipeline is the reason Alaskans get dividends of about $1500 per person every year.


We then paid a visit to the North Pole. That is, the town of North Pole, which is humorously south of Fairbanks. It seems a little too kitschy for me, but we did peruse Santa Claus' house, reindeer stable, gigantic sleigh, and yes, his gift shop where we took pictures with the Big Guy himself (and I proceeded to resist spending money needlessly).




That night, there was a big welcome party with the Sillimanians. Afterwards we headed out with a new friend, Nathan - who had grown up in Fairbanks - to see what nightlife was like in the Golden Heart city. Most bars closed early, but some stayed open very late. After hailing a cab NYC-style (apparently this wasn't the norm, but the cab driver was nice enough to humor us), we ended up at Big Daddy's BBQ for drinks and billiards, a little dancing, and a meet-up with one of my distant cousins who had moved to Fairbanks from Hawai'i a few months ago. The crowd was very small-town. I didn't mind, though. People didn't really seem warm, but they also didn't seem uptight. Just in the middle, I guess.
Gussied up for welcome night.


(Believe it or not, a Filipino food stand!)

That same evening there had been a midnight run, a 6K that began at 10pm, but we missed it. I would have liked to see it for myself, maybe even participate too. The next day - Sunday, June 19 - we checked out the Midnight Sun Festival. All the businesses set up booths downtown and it seemed like everyone was around to enjoy the food, music and games. I enjoyed people-watching. I'd say Alaskans are an eclectic crowd. Most people are young. They are also surprisingly diverse. Walking around and taking in the vibrancy of other passersby, I got the feeling that most had come to Alaska recently.


On Monday, June 20, we headed to Creamer's Field with Chevy, my cousin. This was essentially an old dairy farm whose land drew migratory birds from all over, becoming a prime bird-watching spot. But we weren't there for the birds. We were there to put ourselves in the hands of the boreal forest - a thick, swampy overgrowth that I will only ever remember for its gigantor mosquitos. Luckily, the helpful guide gave use bug repellent and mosquito masks that made us feel like we were in combat (in a way, we were). My skin crawled for the entire hike. I wish I could say I saw some great sights, but I was too busy swatting mosquitos. In the end, I suffered no bites. Chevy wasn't so lucky though. He had opted for short-sleeves that day.


We rushed back to the hotel to catch the bus to Steamboat Landing, where we'd take a steamboat tour of the Chena River. The ride was interesting, touching on many aspects of Alaskan life, from dog mushing and the Iditarod to a peek of how Athabaskan eskimos survived in the wilderness. There was a gala that evening at the hotel, but we were so exhausted after this day that we ended up skipping most of it. We eventually attended, but my eyes were already watering over at that point, desperately in need of a good night's rest.




Tuesday, June 21, was Summer Solstice, and the longest day of the year - especially in Fairbanks. Ironically, it was on this day where I'd say it got as dark as I'd ever see it, and only because of rain clouds that entered in and out during the day. Keep in mind, "dark" is like... twilight-dark. We ended up at Pioneer Park for a picnic where delicious king crab was consumed at startling quantities. Me, Rob, Minji, my sister and Nathan played ultimate frisbee along with Joey, a little kid who both had to learn to throw a frisbee and who didn't seem to want to throw the frisbee to me because I was a girl. Thumbs down.



We spent hours sitting on the grass after that, just enjoying the sun and talking about everything. Rob lost his sunglasses in a nearby creek, where a family of ducks swam back and forth. The Sillimanians were just about singing every chance they got, and before long, we headed for Chena Hot Springs. About 60 miles northeast of Fairbanks, this resort was famous for its natural springs, infused with sodium and other minerals. We took Chena Hot Springs Road to get there, and there was no chance of getting lost - the road literally went from Fairbanks to Chena Hot Springs Resort, with no other towns in between (lots of hiking trails, though). We dipped in the uber-hot water and relaxed for a bit before heading for the rainy drive back. We had seen two moose on the way there, and during the journey back, we saw a large mother moose with its calf. She was drinking from a small pond while the calf waited on land. We did a swift U-turn and captured the scene as best as we could. Rob rolled down his window and did his best imitation of a moose mating call.




The night should have ended there, but we ended up grabbing some pizza at Boston's, meeting with Nathan and his friend for a quick drink, then somehow at an elementary school's baseball field playing ultimate frisbee at midnight. We were exhausted, and the mosquitos swirled around us, but we still had energy for this game. Nathan's friend, Eric, sustained a few brutal falls (and both had been drinking all night, so you can imagine the buffoonery), but all in all a good time was had. It was the next morning that was brutal. We had to wake up early to get the rental car that we'd take for our roadtrip to Anchorage.
(The sun around midnight)

Groggy, we somehow made it through the long, monotonous drive to Denali (in all honesty, mostly monotonous because all we did was sleep). And still mustered the energy to do a 3-mile hike along the Savage River. I'm glad we did - the scenes were spectacular. As were the flora and fauna (see adorable Arctic ground squirrel peeking from its burrow below).





After all that, we drove some more to Talkeetna, a quaint mountain village known for its proximity to Mt. McKinley. Sadly, we did not see that beautiful summit, but I do believe I'd caught it on the plane ride into Fairbanks.


We stayed at the Roadhouse, which was an adorable lodge we wished we'd had more time to enjoy. We were only there one night, and despite the daylight, most restaurants were closed. Our only option was My Little Dumpling, which turned out to be a delicious option after all.


The next morning, we were off again, this time to the Matanuska glacier in Glacier View, where we would actually get to walk on the ice. Stretching 27 miles long, we covered an extremely small piece of this earthly wonder, but we looked like quite the adventurers in our crampons and helmets. Our 3 female guides at Mica Guides were extremely helpful and patient with our big group. My favorite part was filling up my water bottle with glacier water that flowed freely. "Pre-industrial age water," as Rob called it.




We stayed in the Winter Cabin of the Long Rifle Lodge that night - supposedly the only place to stay for about 50 miles in that area. What a wonder the place seemed kind of dilapidated. Making up for this shortcoming was the incredible view of the Chugach mountains. After dinner at the lodge's restaurant, where we also bumped into some of the guides, we crashed easily after all that ice-walking.




The next day, our last in Alaska, we were down to the Kenai Peninsula to witness the Portage Glacier, a relatively young formation that has receded significantly in the last few decades, leaving a gorgeously-blue glacial lake in its wake. The drive itself was spectacular. We winded down Seward Highway, where you could see miles of mudflats and the Cook Inlet that led us to Portage. We took a boat tour out and got some great views of the glacier and the surrounding formations. Other glaciers hung on surrounding summits, but the formations on the Portage Glacier were so dramatic - the ice seemed to fall into the water before our very eyes.





That evening, most of the group headed back to Anchorage International Airport to catch their flights home. For the handful of us who had red-eye flights, we opted for the Beartooth Theatre Bar & Grill, after realizing the Native Heritage Center Museum wasn't open. I tried a delicious home-brewed raspberry wheat ale. Our final excursion before the airport was Earthquake Park, a park that had once been an affluent neighborhood, destroyed in a 1964 earthquake. We walked down toward the view of the Knik Arm - which was beautiful, but at the perilous hands of evil mosquitos that succeeded in biting me twice. I thought I'd made it through the trip without one of those painful bites, but I guess I had countless adventures and beautiful sights to assuage the pain.

(The view of the Knik Arm from Earthquake Park)