Tag Archives: history

Salmonfest 2020

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Salmonfest is an annual event here in Alaska.  This year, even those Outside can take part in the festivities, as the music festival will be streamed.

The event takes on additional urgency, as Alaskans overwhelmingly protest the fast tracking of the massive Pebble Mine at the headwaters of Bristol Bay.

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Alaska Bound: Round 2

Film Friday:

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Camper Special

A friend recently sent me this photo.  I came back to Minnesota a year after first driving up to Alaska, because I needed a pickup, and vehicles can be expensive in Alaska, and often beat on.  I forget all of the details, but it’s possible, I simply wanted to drive the AlCan again.

I found a 1966 Chevrolet C20, Camper Special in one of the auto trade magazines that were around back at the time.  It came with bald, bias-ply tires, but a sound 327 engine, and a rather smooth ride, compared to my Bronco.  I didn’t have anything in the trailer that belonged to me, but the canoe riding on the top is mine.  I sent my Dad into a state of mild depression, when he saw what I was about to drive for 4000 miles.

I bought a set of tires, replaced all fluids, hoses and belts, and the truck made it to Alaska without so much as a hiccup.


Toad River

A Pandemic Roadtrip: Part Five

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Looking out my cabin door; Toad River Lodge

I pushed the mileage to just under 650 on this day, getting to Toad River at around 8pm.  A shortcut on Highway 29 meant that I could avoid Fort St John, but there was a major construction project on 29, so I doubt it cut off much time.  Still, it was a highway I had not driven previously, and it’s always good to get in some new territory.

Overall, this part of B.C. is just stunning country, and there was wildlife galore.  Black bears and bison, for the most part, but I did see a couple of moose.

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Inside the Toad River Lodge: They collect hats.

My usual layover in this part of British Columbia is at the Toad River Lodge, and I swung in here once again.  I’ve written about this lodge on here before, but I can offer a quick refresher.  On my second drive to Alaska, I was driving a slightly older Chevy pickup, pulling a UHaul trailer.  I don’t believe I had anything in the trailer, it was full of stuff a buddy of mine talked me into hauling up for him. I did make use of the trailer roof though.  I pulled into the Toad River Lodge on that trek to Alaska, and watched a single engine aircraft land alongside the Alaska Highway, and then promptly taxi down the highway, where it pulled in front of the Toad River Lodge.  They landed for some breakfast.  I knew this was my kind of country at that moment.

They are currently doing a lot of work to the lodge.  The old, and probably original cabin I stayed at, is no longer standing.  Several new cabins, with running water even, now stand along the lake shore.  I rented one of those new, fangled cabins for the night.  Not as cozy, and without a bit of atmosphere, but I had a sound night of sleep.

 


All good things must come to an end

Fairbanks has ended its 73 day run of 24 hours of Daylight & Civil Twilight.  The Dark Side is gaining power.


Through the Portal

A Pandemic Roadtrip: Part 3 

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Heading north

The only restaurant food I had on the entire trip was in Missoula.  I stopped at a small, local shop on Hwy 93.  I walked up to the restaurant, and was greeted on the sidewalk by an employee.  Several menus were on display boards along the sidewalk; it could have been a drive-in.  There was only one other customer, a fellow traveler on a motorcycle.  I placed an order, and waited out on the walk.

Any drive through western Montana is a passage through some beautiful country.  The temps had dropped dramatically from the day before, the skies were overcast, and a light mist hung in the air.  Highway 93 winds north out of Missoula, skirting the western shoreline of Flathead Lake.  Eventually, it passes through Kalispell and Whitefish.  The only bad traffic was in Whitefish.  Oddly enough, I think it was the worst of the entire trip.

The Portal was different.  Most of the normal questions were not asked, although I was asked if I was transporting a firearm.  Covid-19 questions were on the front burner, opioid questions came in second.  In all my travels through Canada, this was the first time my car was searched.  And boy, was it searched.  An agent even opened a mouthwash bottle, and did not screw the lid on properly.  My duffle will have a minty fresh scent for the rest of the trip.

I was a bit surprised about the overzealous border agent, but I chalked it all up to boredom.  I was there for approximately 40 minutes, and no one else came through.  I was given my orders:  Take the shortest route to the Alaska border, no stopping for food, no stopping for pictures, and only pay for gas at the pump.  During the search, they found that I had all the food needed to cross, along with plenty of water and camping gear.  I was asked if I had lodging plans, and I said I only had one night planned – camping near Golden, British Columbia.  They must have been satisfied, because they let me pass.

*A footnote: I am not complaining about the procedure, as much as I’m detailing the account for other travelers.  The world has changed, even between neighbors.  I am extremely grateful that the Canadian officials let me return home through their country.  They did not have to, and I am fully aware of that fact.  Still, it was a night and day different experience, from what I have been through in the past.

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The ZX resting in Kootenay NP

My first camp site in Canada was in BC’s Kootenay National Park.  A little more formal of a setting than I had been visiting up until this point.  Much of the facilities were closed.  One tidbit of info: Just because a website says they have working showers at the campground, does not mean that one is allowed to use the working showers.  All were shutdown due to the pandemic.

Notice, once again, I lost a front license plate to a souvenir hunter.  The Nissan has been without a front plate since a visit to Tampa, Florida in 2016.

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Back in bear country

 


Devil’s Tower to Missoula

A Pandemic Roadtrip: Part 2 

 

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The Tower, at a distance

Day two of the road trip had absolutely beautiful weather.  Slightly cooler than the day before, but still warm and a tad sticky.

I had camped out fairly close to Devil’s Tower, and actually had no real plans to stop.  In the end, the sight of that column of rock rising up from above the Belle Fourche River valley, was too tempting.

Devil’s Tower is a butte formed of igneous rock.  Known as the Bear’s Lodge locally, The Tower was the first national monument in the United States, established in 1906 by then President Theodore Roosevelt.

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Devil’s Tower

The Tower rises 1267 feet above the Belle Fourche River, and is 867 feet from base to summit.  It’s an impressive sight, and I was not the only visitor to the monument.

The visitor’s center was closed.  The parking lot at the trailhead was full, although the overflow parking was not.  There was not one car in the parking lot with a Wyoming license plate; everyone was out of state.  There were a lot of RV’s trying to force their way into some sort of parking situation, and park workers tried valiantly to get them to park in RV parking.  So that part of the experience was no different than Pre-Covid.

There is a trail that runs around the Tower itself, that I had already trekked in the past. It was crowded, and confusion ran rampant.  Once again, park workers were doing their best to get people to social distance, but few people were paying any attention.  I decided to pass on that trail, and found a side track that no one else was on, just to stretch my legs.

Eventually, I had to get back on the road.  It didn’t take long to pick up the interstate again, and I was off for Montana.  Camping in the Lolo National Forest was the goal for the night.

 


A Tribute:

In all the photos, there you were, right in the middle of the gathering.  Often surrounded by kids, and almost always wearing a huge smile.  My favorite photo of you though, is an old, black & white one, and it’s just you.  A young high school athlete, looking confident, about to go on a date, standing in front of a first car.  A 1950 Ford.

We went through some tough times, the three of us, with you leading the way by example.  Somehow, even working two jobs and extremely long hours, you were always there.  There were dance recitals and football games; you must have rushed through the entire day, but there you were, off to the side, quietly watching.

When you couldn’t be there, you found someone who could.  I often wondered at that sacrifice.  How difficult was it for you to allow someone to stand in for you?  There were camping trips, fishing trips, outdoor adventures that you knew fueled a flame, yet you had the bravery to allow another to strike the match.  I never asked you about that, and I never told you, that I knew all along, that it was you who provided the tinder.

There were a lot of sporting events, however.  Williams Arena, Mariucci, Memorial Stadium, The Met, the Dome.  We ran the gamut. We sat in the rain, in the cold, in the sun.  We saw the first Hobey winner in action.  We tailgated. We watched as the goal posts came down and were carried across the parking lot, but you wouldn’t let me liberate your seats, even though I brought a tiny socket set for the occasion.  You were the one to give me that set in the first place, which I may have reminded you of at the time.

I followed a different trail, and I know it was difficult for you.  Every year, my eyes seemed to search a little further west, and eventually I found my way to Alaska.  That fact did not thrill you, but you tolerated it, as best as you could.  Every year you came up, and every year I hoped you would see what I saw, feel what I felt.  Then one year, we were sitting at the gate, waiting for you to board the airplane for the flight back to civilization.  That one had been a fun visit; we had gone all over the state, and we had met a lot of different people.  You said, “I get it now.  Alaska suits you.  You belong here.”  That was probably the best gift I have ever received.

Our paths have diverged now.  Advice I will have to obtain from the archives.  Luckily for me, the archives are full.  Pictures may be few, but memories run rampant.  Life is a short game, but you played it extremely well.  You taught a lot of people that kindness was a strength, and wisdom something hard earned, tainted by experience.

I do not have any answers.  Mostly there are only questions right now, and a huge empty void.  Over the years, I have shared a poem with a few people that I originally found by reading Ernest Gann.  The poem is often attributed to Henry Van Dyke, or the Rev. Luther F. Beecher.  Take your pick, but for me, it originated with Gann.

I am standing upon the seashore.
A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze,
and starts for the blue ocean.
She is an object of beauty and strength,
and I stand and watch her until she hangs like a speck of white cloud
just where the sea and sky come down to mingle with each other.
Then someone at my side says: “There! She’s gone!”
Gone where? Gone from my sight – that is all.
She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side,
and just as able to bear her load of living freight
to the place of her destination.
Her diminished size is in me, and not in her.

And just at the moment
when someone at my side says: “There! She’s gone!”
there are other eyes that are watching for her coming;
and other voices ready to take up the glad shout:
“There she comes!”

 


Underpass Art

Film Friday:

Camera: Kodak 66; Film: Kodak 120, Ektar 100


Truly, One of a Kind

Flashback Film Friday:


Walter Harper Day

Walter Harper

Today, 7 June, is the first Walter Harper Day. Harper, whom I have written about on here before, is one of my favorite historical Alaskans.

It was on this day in 1913, when Harper became the first known person to stand on the summit of Denali.

Harper tragically died at the age of 25, along with his young bride, Frances Wells Harper, with the sinking of the Princess Sophia in 1918.