Talkeetna, ALASKA

Tuesday- 8/28- Talkeetna, Alaska

We were up at 5:30 A.M. It was forty three degrees out. A deep fog had settled in over the Chulitna river valley below us. We had coffee in the room while watching the t.v. morning news. I finished reading “Angel’s Flight.” We prepped for the day and, at 8:45 A.M., set out for the lodge. We opted for muffins, a banana and coffee in one of the fireplace rooms, overlooking the mountains. A large group of visitors mingled about, waiting for their buses to Anchorage. We waited for the 9:30 A.M. shuttle to Talkeetna.

Talkeetna is a small village of 600 year round residents. Once it had held 10,000 souls searching for gold. Now, It is an artists’ colony of sorts. In Athabascan, “Talkeetna” means “place where the rivers meet.” It is the confluence of the Talkeetna River and the Chulitna Rivers. Then, these murky, fast moving rivers feed into the Susitna or “Big Su” river for the 130 mile run down into Prince William Sound, east of Anchorage.

A goodly number of other pilgrims had joined us for the one-hour run into Talkeetna. The village actually sits but six miles across the river from our lodge, as the crow flies, but the road into town takes an hour. The bus drivers always gave us a fact-filled and often amusing narration of the sights and sounds around us. We were traveling on the George Parker Highway. It runs the 400 miles length from Anchorage in the South, to Fairbanks, just 400 miles from the Arctic Ocean. Along its thin path lie most of the settlements of the interior of Alaska. Scraggly spruce trees compete with thin white birch trees for dominance in the surrounding forest. It has a feel “of the Adirondacks” to me. Wide fields or “Muskegs” are patches of land where the permafrost lies just underneath. The driver gave the best explanation for permafrost that I have ever heard. He said the land lies frozen longer than the heat of Summer months can melt it. Grass, sedge and thin trees, with shallow roots, are all that will grow upon it.

One amusing establishment that we passed is called “Wal-Mike’s.” It is a collection of every available form of junk and useless curiosity pieces that a rural state like Alaska can produce. A reindeer sat in a open pen out back. Many of these places brought back memories of the humorous television series “Northern Exposure.” Alaskans, like their Canadian cousins, have a wonderful self-deprecatory humor that is both endearing as well as funny. We exited onto the Takeetna spur, of the highway, and motored into town. Just before Talkeetna the driver stopped along the road. There, on the horizon before us, shined Mts. Hunter, McKinley and Foraker. He said no one had seen these, from this vantage point, in years:) (LFMM)

The village itself is a collection of a few short streets. A post office, three bars and a few eateries are speckled amidst several gift shops and other retail establishments. A number of those very attractive a-frame log cabins lie amidst the buildings and give the place its character. It has the feel of a frontier town. The main road is mostly empty. Tourists walk in groups up and down the streets, looking for more Chinese and Indonesian artifacts. The village is also the jump off point for the many climbing expeditions that try the ascent of Mt. McKinley. In 2006, 1200 explorers made the attempt, 600 made it to the 20,320 ft. summit and five died in the attempt. Some 40 adventurers have been lost in crevices up there over the years, never to be found, frozen in time for some later day explorer to discover them in a few thousand years. The mountain climbing season runs from May to mid July, when the Summer’s heat opens up huge ice crevasses, that swallow the unsuspecting climber.

We found an artists co-op and browsed the hand made clothing and gifts. At last, something made by real Alaskans. By coincidence, the girl minding the store was the woman that we were looking for. Barbara Holmes is a young and newly arrived Alaskan. She, son Jackson, husband and coming 2nd child live here year round. We play golf with her Mother in law, in Ft. Myers , Florida, during the Winter months. We talked with her for a while, enjoying her conversation. We then bought one of her “creations” for a niece. It is a small world that we live in.

It was nearing noon, so we sought out a spot for lunch. “The Road House Cafe & Bakery” had been well recommended. From the outside, it looks like a dilapidated, wooden tavern. Inside, the aroma of freshly baked bread and cookies makes you glad that you came. The place is old and all angles are off kilter, but it is warm and friendly. It is also very democratic. You have to pull up a chair, where ever you find one, and sit with whomever is already at the table. It makes for interesting conversations. We ordered and much enjoyed a huge bowl of vegetarian chili and some corn bread that must have weighed a pound per slice. Both were wonderful.

After lunch, we walked down to “Talkeetna Park.” It is a patch of grass, with a few old wilow trees, about twenty feet square. Two scrufty looking young campers were fixing their tent. But, it lies on the path that leads you down to the Talkeeta River. We walked along the stony banks of this glacial river, admiring the exquisite views of Mt. McKinley and the other peaks of the Alaskan Range. The dark granite and eroded peaks of the Tokasha Mountains lie in front of them. They are twenty miles closer to us and appear much smaller than they are. They are also weirdly eroded and almost Tolkienesque in appearance. They stand in stark relief to the crystal whiteness of Mt. McKinley towering behind them, almost a sharply pointed frame for the beauty of the higher mountains. No one had seen a view like this in years:) ( LFMM) We skipped a few stones across the river and enjoyed the brilliant sunshine setting the stage for everything around us. It doesn't come any prettier than this. On the way back to town we came upon several reindeer in a cage.(caribou in the wild) They nuzzled grass and would eat from anyone who offered them food. The Russians had introduced the breed to Alaska, as a food source, in the early 1800’s.

We browsed the “chocolate shop” and a few cute log-cabin, gift stores. They are all post card pretty. We walked by the Fairfield Inn, a run down old tavern and Inn. It is here than President Warren Harding ate his last meal, in 1923, while visiting Alaska. He supposedly ate some seafood that poisoned him. He was transported, by rail and ship, to San Francisco where he died five days later. Local wags noted that he was traveling with both his wife and mistress at the time. They suggest that one of them reportedly slipped him something evil, in a drink, to end his life. It might not be true, but the locals love the “maybe” of it. We were tiring of the shops and walked to the end of town to the K2 Aviation field, where we watched the graceful bush planes land and take off for a bit. These sturdy planes are one of the only means of reaching much of the Alaskan interior.

It was nearing 2 P.M., so we hurried over to the Mahay’s Jet Boat shop. There, we were boarded on buses and ferried a mile or so to their dock on the Talkeetna River, at the far edge of the “Talkeetna Marina.” They have a series of Jet Boats docked here for rides up and along the Talkeetna and Chulitna Rivers. Ours was running a bit late, so we sat and enjoyed the warm sun on us. A boat docked. Seth and Madeline Champagne got off of it. We talked with them for a bit. They had just made an early run, 60 miles up river, to the huge level six rapids on the Chulitna. They much enjoyed their trip.

When our turn came, about 30 of us climbed into the low slung jet boat. It has glass sided windows and a huge bow and stern for viewing. GIven today's new human weight levels, the first three rows of passengers had to stand in the back, at first, to get the boat off of the shore. The run up river was fun. We looked upon birch and spruce forests where no man now treads nor has in many years. The river below us was chalky gray and a chilly 38 degrees. On the banks, we caught sight of a bald eagle and her year old eaglet. They cavorted on the shore unaware, or uncaring, of their new audience. Both the river bed and the shores were stone lined, remnants from the might glaciers high above that fed them. In Winter, these rivers all freeze solid, making for excellent dog sled and snow mobile runs for the locals.

About twenty miles up river, we berthed at a small set of wooden stairs. The ranger accompanied us to a site where he showed us the various native means of survival, like fish drying racks, wooden lean to, inground storage of food and fire pits. Then, we walked about a quarter of a mile through the woods to the sight of a log cabin. The ranger had a shot gun strung over his shoulder in the event we encountered any of the large brown or black bears that inhabit the area. He said in case of a bear encounter, we should not run, but form a large protective circle around him:) Humor always works.

The cabin, made of hand hewn spruce logs, was chinked with sphagnum moss to seal the cracks and featured a sod roof with grass growing on it. A small pipe fed up from the rear of the building, promising a stove of sorts for heating. The cabin looked like it would be warm and cozy in the freezing, sub zero winter. The owner of the Mahay’s Jet Boats Company had come here from upstate New York, in the early 1970’s, to “live in the wild.” He hunted, trapped and fished with his wife, until the arrival of children suggested that they move into the relative civilization of Talkeetna. He then founded this River ride company. It is very successful.

Behind the cabin, stands a much smaller log cabin seated atop four log poles, about twenty feet in the air. The last few feet of the poles are covered in metal, so critters could not climb the poles. It was the storage cache for meat and food products. All foodstuffs are cached there. Bears and critters follow their noses. You didn’t want them trying to enter your living space, so you had to cache your food high above in a protected space. The knowledgeable young ranger showed us fur pelts from red fox, sable, beaver, otter, coyote, black bear and grizzly bear. These had all been taken lately. The locals are permitted to shoot three black bear a year, at any time. The operation’s manager of the jet boats had just shot a 500 pound black bear at their docks last week. The ranger said ruefully that it would probably be the food for their company picnic a few weeks hence. Black Bear meat is usually ground up, with 15% fat added and used like hamburger. He said grizzly bear meat is tough and unpalatable.

The area where we stood had been once inhabited by Athapascan native Alaskans. In 1896, when they first established contacts with white men, their numbers here had been in the 5,000 range. By 1924, almost the entire population has succumbed and died of the Influenza epidemic that then raged across the land. One rugged Athabascan survived and lived well into his nineties. It is from him that we learned much of the many native woodsman practices of how these hardy people lived and prospered in the rugged and frigid wilderness.

We marched back to the wooden steps and reboarded the jet boat, for a speed run down the Chulitna river, and then back up the Talkeetna river, to Talkeetna. The sun was shining, the mountains “out” and we were enjoying an exhilarating speed run down a wild river in Northern Alaska. It was as good as it gets. At Mahay’s dock, we offloaded and were shuttled into Talkeetna. We only had to wait for a few minutes for the five-thirty shuttle to the McKinley Lodge. On the ride back, we visually drank in the beauty of the green conifer forests, the permafrost muskegs and all the other pristine surroundings. You don’t need a sales pitch to sell this area. It draws nicely all by itself.

The sun was still high and it was a warm 67 degrees out, so we ordered a vodka martini and a glass of cabernet, while we sat on the open deck of the McKinley lodge. We enjoyed the sparkling visage of Mt. Mckinley and the Alaska Range, with the darker and more foreboding Tokosha Mts. in front of them. The changing light and shadow made for “different mountains” every hour of the day. We decided to stay up for a bit. We walked over to the “20/320” restaurant and ordered a glass of cabernet and a caesar salad, in the quiet area of the bar. It was enjoyable. After dinner, we couldn’t yet give up. We walked back to the lodge, and had coffee on the open deck, memorizing every line ot the rocky horizon. After all, this only happens every few years. (LFMM)

Back in our room, we began to pack our bags. We would be leaving this pleasant venue on the morrow. I wrote up my notes, then read for a time (“Killer Instinct”- Joseph Finder” ) before settling into the welcome arms of Morpheus.

-30-

Joseph Xavier Martin