Journal entry, August 10, 2022: “Where do I even begin? I’m currently lounging in the tundra staring at a wall of mountains dusted with snow. They drop steeply to the Long Glacier below. To my left is the enormous, glaciated Mount Wrangell, its top hidden in clouds. It looks like it’s so close I could reach out and touch it. Owen is playing cards and Denali is napping in the sunlight. 24 hours ago, I thought we might die here.”
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| Wrangell Plateau |
We were on the Wrangell Plateau in Wrangell- St. Elias National Park, 20 miles as the crow flies from the nearest road, from any semblance of civilization. To explain how we got there in the first place, I need to start at the beginning, one month prior and 4,000 miles south.
Chapter 1: California, Oregon, and Washington
July 10 - July 16, 2022
The morning of July 10, our departure day for our two-month long road trip to Alaska, we were still packing up our 1987 Toyota 4Runner, carefully selecting any last essentials we’d likely need. We packed our tent, sleeping bags, backpacks, warm weather gear, rain gear, and basic cooking supplies. Two changes of clothes made the cut, as did my camera, a few books and some toiletries. Everything got neatly organized in the custom drawers that Owen made for the back of the 4Runner. Between those, our Bodega refrigerator, and Denali’s gigantic dog bed, there wasn’t space for much else.
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| Our cooking supplies in the drawers Owen made |
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| Perched on her gigantic bed |
We fell into an easy rhythm the first couple days as we drove through northern California, Oregon, and Washington. What I loved most was that our days were so simple: drive, set up camp, cook dinner, clean up, walk Denali. No Zoom meetings, no endless emails, no house chores. We sat around after dinner drinking cold beers, just happy to be outside. Camping felt like such a simple joy.
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| Shasta-Trinity National Forest, northern CA |
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| A relaxed morning in North Cascades, WA |
Our first major stop was in the Cascade Mountains in Washington. By night, we camped in moss draped forests, and by day we drove alongside clear, raging rivers, and powerful waterfalls. One night, we were jolted out of slumber by a freight train horn blasting just 50 feet from our tent (that’s what we got for choosing a site near the train tracks!). We feasted on bratwursts, pretzels, and beer in Leavenworth, a Bavarian themed town in the middle of nowhere. We hiked almost to Heather Pass, high above Lake Ann, turned around due to lingering snow, and glissaded part of the way back down.
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| Checking on the truck on the crazy mountain roads |
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| Okanogan-Wenatchee National Forest |
A couple days into the Cascades, we dealt with the first challenges of the trip. One afternoon, the hub of our tent pole snapped as we were setting it up, which rendered the tent unusable. Seeing as we were living in it for the foreseeable future, this was a major issue. After freaking out, then weighing several different options, ranging from buying a new tent ($$$$) to finding a mechanic’s shop and using their tools to repair the pole ($), we finally came up with a solution. We ordered a replacement hub which would be shipped to an REI store in Alaska that we could pick up in a couple weeks. In the meantime, Owen bought a nut, a washer, and a screw which held the pole secure. With that crisis behind us, we decided to find a cheap hotel in Bellingham so we could get clean and relax. After reading online reviews, I determined that the affordable hotels were $150 - $200, and had bedbugs, homeless encampments nearby, stained linens, and reviews with titles such as “DO NOT STAY HERE” and “Worst place I’ve ever slept.” Finally, we decided to splurge and spent $300 on a bed-bug free room. Instead of bed-bugs, we got a gorgeous soaking tub, four free drinks at the bar, and made to order breakfast. It was easily the fanciest hotel we stayed in the entire trip, and I have zero regrets.
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| Cooling off in Ross Lake National Rec Area |
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| Cleaning up after dinner in our fern-filled campsite |
Chapter 2: Canada
July 17 - July 26, 2022
We crossed into Canada at a small border crossing north of Lyden, WA. We had all our paperwork prepared - truck registration, insurance, Denali’s rabies vaccination - and didn’t need to show any of it. The border patrol agent was more interested in how we were able to take so much time off this summer.
We drove north on highway 99 towards Whistler, which followed Howe Sound and wound through granite mountains and misty forests dotted with waterfalls. It wasn’t until we checked into our Airbnb in Whistler and I perused a guidebook that I realized we had been driving on the Sea to Sky Highway, a famous route known for its spectacular scenery. Our time in Whistler was a whirlwind. We explored Whistler Village, marveled at the mud-splattered downhill mountain bikers, and I even found a lake on a trail run with Denali, aptly named Lost Lake.
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| Going on a stroll through Whistler Village |
After Whistler, we continued north along the Sea to Sky Highway to the West Access Route and then onto the Cassiar Highway. The landscapes were stunning, with gigantic snow covered mountains, thick forests, sparkling lakes, and wildlife sightings. I was almost grateful for the sections through flatter agricultural and timber land, as it helped recalibrate my capability to be awed. It was on these roads that I opened up our Milepost guide for the first time. The Milepost has mile-by-mile information on all the roads in western Canada and Alaska, and it became our bible for the next several weeks. It was how we found campgrounds, grocery stores, elusive free WiFi, scenic lunch spots, even short hikes.
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| Along the Sea to Sky Highway |
At this point in the trip, we usually stayed in Provincial campgrounds, and we were in such remote areas that we never had trouble finding available sites. For $20 Canadian ($15 US), we got a flat site, pit toilets, and the peace of mind of not being completely alone, in case a bear decided to stumble into camp at night. While bears were a threat in the back of our minds, a more regular nuisance was the humble but ever present mosquito. To keep them at bay, we donned rain gear, used a Thermacell, built smoky fires, doused ourselves with DEET, but ultimately ended up hiding from them in the truck or in the tent on many a night. No lazy nights lounging in our chairs drinking beers anymore.
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| Relaxing on her perch |
Luckily there were plenty of sights to lift our spirits. The drive to Salmon Glacier in British Columbia was one such gem. It was listed in the Milepost as an unassuming side trip along the Cassiar Highway that we decided to take. Along the way, the towering mountains were covered in snow, glaciers, and waterfalls. We saw a mama bear and her cub in front of Bear Glacier. The road passed through Alaska briefly, in Hyder, known as Alaska’s friendliest ghost town. The main activity in town was to get “hyderized” at the local saloon by downing a shot of Everclear. We came through at 11am, right as the bar was opening, and Owen couldn’t resist. The bartender spelled out the rules: no sniffing, no sipping, and it must be downed in one swig. He complied and received an official certification card. Back on the road, we noticed the Sprinter van in front of us had a flat tire, and Owen was feeling a little friendlier than normal, perhaps due to the Everclear. We waved the driver down and Owen quickly helped him patch it up. The driver insisted on giving Owen $20 as a thank you! Eventually we arrived at the viewing area for the Salmon Glacier. I ran around feverishly taking pictures from every angle. On the drive back to the Cassiar Highway, we could barely take in any more scenery. At the first stop we came to with free Wi-Fi, I took out my phone and scrolled through Facebook for something ugly to look at, to try to recalibrate.
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| Along the way to Stewart, BC |
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| Hyder, AK |
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| Salmon Glacier |
A couple days after the Salmon Glacier we were ready to try our hand at finding a hotel in remote Canada. Out of a whopping two hotels in Dease Lake, British Columbia, which is more than I expected for a town of 450, one luckily had a room available for the night. We commenced our typical hotel routine:
Step 1: Look pitiful and beg to check in early to maximize time indoors.
Step 2: Do chores- take showers, do laundry, wash dishes, dry gear, comb Denali.
Step 3: As a reward for chores being complete, lay in bed and watch TV until brain is mush.
Step 4: Leave the room only to find dinner. On this night we ate from the one restaurant in town that wasn’t the gas station, called The Shack and prayed that we didn’t get food poisoning.
Step 5: Get dirty immediately after checking out while accidentally brushing up against the muddy, dusty truck. Count down the days until we can stay in a hotel again.
Luckily we didn’t have to wait long to stay in a hotel again. From Dease Lake, we took the Alaska Highway to the Klondike Highway and arrived in Dawson City on our wedding anniversary. To celebrate, we splurged and found a hotel room. We strayed from our typical hotel routine of maximizing time indoors and instead spent the day exploring Dawson City. It was an… interesting town. It’s a well-preserved gold rush town and thrives on tourism, but there are also active gold mines in the area and the colorful characters that accompany that industry. And in some ways, it was no different than any other small town, where everyone knows your business. Exhibit A: Owen stopped in the hardware store and overheard people talking about the old 4Runner from Cali, aka our truck! After a couple hours of exploring antique shops and old buildings in town, we were tired of the tourist scene. We hopped in the truck and explored the dirt roads on the outskirts of town. We’d repeat this routine in many towns throughout our trip. I enjoyed it because it gave me a chance to check out the neat little cabins and camps tucked in the woods. Owen had another motive, though- he was looking for old 4Runners and the potential to find rare parts, like inclinometers, that could be found nowhere else.
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| Dawson City, Yukon Territory |
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| 10:02pm: still light out |
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| Waiting for the ferry to cross the Yukon River |
Just north of Dawson City, we encountered the real reason we had chosen this particular route into Alaska: the Top of the World Highway. With a name like that, how could we resist? It was 80 miles of mostly dirt road, unimpeded views of the mountains, and zero visitor services.
Chapter 3: Alaska (the beginning)
July 27 - August 7, 2022
We crossed into Alaska on the Top of the World Highway at a tiny border crossing, where the border patrol agent was more interested in checking out our old 4Runner than looking at our paperwork. Why did no one want to see our paperwork?! We headed towards Anchorage via the Taylor Highway, Tok Cutoff route, and Glenn Highway. The scenery was incredible: endless views of the snow-covered Alaska Range, the Wrangell Mountains, and the Matanuska Glacier. By the time we arrived in Girdwood, along the beautiful Turnagain Arm, south of Anchorage, I could barely take in any more epic views.
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| Border crossing along Top of the World Highway |
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| Stopped in a town named Chicken, AK |
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| Sheep Mountain, AK |
It turned out that the antidote to my funk was going on a hike in Girdwood… to see more beautiful views. But it was totally different being on foot. What we originally intended to be a quick late afternoon jaunt turned into a five hour epic hike to Crow Pass. Along the way, we met a tourist hiking with a gun, who I thought was a hunter, but was just doing it for the photos. Then we met a mountain biker with a husky, who I thought was a wolf, hunting for small critters. We hiked past mine ruins, scree fields, the snow-covered Chugach Mountains, alpine lakes, the Raven Glacier. The highlight was watching a group of five mountain goats running, playing, and eating, not far from us. It was still light out by the time we made it back to the truck at 9:30pm but we were exhausted and starving, and I was ready to drive straight to a restaurant and devour an entire pizza. The universe must’ve heard me because five minutes later a group of backpackers walked up to us with a pizza box and asked if we wanted their leftovers. Hell, yes!
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| Chugach National Forest |
After Girdwood we headed to Seward, on the Kenai Peninsula, with no real concrete plans for what to see. We stopped at a campground along Resurrection Bay near downtown to eat lunch, and decided to camp there for the night. As we set up our tent we got chatting with a guy named Wes who works for the City of Seward. We made plans to meet up with him and his girlfriend for dinner that night. But first, we stopped at a fish weir on a nearby creek. We really wanted Denali to eat fresh salmon in Alaska, and as Owen and I aren’t big into fishing, she’d have to catch one herself. Wes assured us that she had the best chance of catching one at the fish weir. The creek was choked with hundreds of salmon, but at first Denali didn’t seem interested. Then we realized that she didn’t notice them under the water. As soon as they jumped out of the water, she flipped out. We devised a new strategy, which involved me splashing through the water to try to scare the salmon into jumping up. This failed epically, but it sure was fun.
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| Looking for salmon on the fish weir |
I assumed that Wes and his girlfriend, Lexi, would invite us to their place in town. I should’ve known this would be dinner, Alaskan style. They told us to meet them at a dry river bed along the way to Exit Glacier. We arrived at a mecca of people hanging out, camping, and driving adventure rigs. We cooked tacos on our camp stove and chatted, sharing stories of adventure, work, and life. Then we all headed to a bar in downtown Seward to check out live music. It was a true locals dive bar, cash only, with some interesting regulars. We had to leave Denali in the truck, and when I peaked out to check on her, the band was also outside taking a break. They said that from the stage, they could see her through the side door and she was staring at them the entire time! We didn’t head back to our camp until after midnight, and it was the first time on the trip I had to use my headlamp. Our second day in Steward was a little less fun, since it rained almost the entire day. We went for a scenic drive, unsuccessfully looked for a dog friendly coffee shop, and finally hunkered down in an Ace Hardware store. We had an elaborate meal planned for dinner that we did NOT want to make in the rain, and the universe seemed to answer our pleas when we found a public, covered picnic shelter with amazing views of the water that we cooked in while staying dry.
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| Sunset in Resurrection Bay |
Our last stop on the Kenai Peninsula was in Homer. We originally hadn’t planned on going, but when we polled Alaskans we met along the way, multiple people named Homer as their favorite place in the state. Homer was certainly beautiful, but it also tested my patience like no other place had. Our first night was easy: we strolled the crowded Homer Spit, set up camp on the beach, and talked to a very eccentric and chatty old guy camped next to us. The next morning is when things went south. We had tea and coffee with our new friend, but I didn’t want to spend all morning being talked at, so I politely but firmly excused us from the conversation. We hopped in the truck to drive to a trailhead when it started raining, again. A mix of emotions hit me- sadness over the rain, guilt that I told the old guy off, frustration because there was nowhere to go to be alone and sulk- and I started laughing and crying simultaneously. Unfortunately, the roller coaster of emotions was a common occurrence throughout the trip. But now that I’ve had time to reflect on it, I’m grateful. Each rainy, buggy, gear-malfunction low made the good times that much more rewarding. I felt like I was living life fully, not just watching time go by in our usual climate controlled, sterile, comfortable world.
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| Homer boat harbor |
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| Sunset along the Homer Spit |
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| A successful hike, once the rain stopped |
After all our adventures on the Kenai Peninsula, we were ready to relax for a couple days. We had just the thing planned: a stay with Owen’s cousin, Shayla in Anchorage. Our timing worked out well, as Owen’s uncle was also visiting. Our stint there was brief but restorative: we took hot showers, did laundry, and dried out and repaired gear. We even had time for some fun. One day, we hiked nearby Flattop Mountain, and as we were picking blueberries on the descent we spotted two bull moose a couple hundred feet away. Perhaps even better than our wildlife spotting was getting to enjoy fresh Alaskan fish and game. One night, we had coho salmon that Shayla had caught just the previous day, and the next night we had pasta with caribou that Shayla’s now-husband had hunted. Fishing and hunting is such a key component of the culture and way of life in Alaska, and I was grateful we could experience a part of that.
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| Flattop Mountain |
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| Denali even helped us pick berries |
Soon enough it was time to leave Shayla’s dry and cozy house and continue on. Of course, it poured the night we left and the next morning while we camped just outside of Whittier, in Prince William Sound. To give you a sense of the type of terrain we were in, Whittier can only be accessed by boat, plane, or by driving through a 2.7 mile long, one-lane tunnel. The tunnel was carved into the rough rock and so narrow it was kind of claustrophobic. I almost expected to emerge into Hogwarts or Mordor.
Instead, we emerged into Whittier. Whittier was not part of our original itinerary but when someone we met a few weeks earlier suggested we take the ferry from Whittier to Valdez to shorten our drive, we figured why not? We took Denali for a rainy, muddy hike to tire her out, then loaded the truck onto the ferry’s car deck. Dogs have to stay in your vehicle during the ferry ride, so we said goodbye to Denali then went up to the passenger decks to watch the ferry leave port. By that point the rain had stopped, the clouds started to clear, and we finally got a glimpse of what Whittier looked like. It was beautiful! Thin waterfalls cascaded down plush, spongy-looking mountains.
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| Passing another ferry in Prince William Sound |
There were so many areas to explore on the ferry, I didn’t know where to go first. The upper decks on the front and back, the reading room, an indoor seating area? Plus, there were bathrooms with flush toilets, and a vending machine! I finally settled on the back upper deck, reading and lounging in the sun. I had a view of the fjords, waterfalls, glaciers, and small remote islands we passed, and even spotted a pod of orca whales! I treated myself to two bags of Cheetos from the vending machine. Compared to roughing it in our old dusty, dirty, truck, this felt like a luxury cruise.
We arrived in Valdez and were immediately greeted with a concert. Owen thought it was for us, but it was actually part of Gold Rush Days, a festival to celebrate the mining history of Valdez. Despite the rain, the outdoor concert was packed. It essentially did not stop raining the next three days we were in town, and I had a little more trouble adjusting to it than the Gold Rush Days partiers. The lows were plentiful: our tent was soaking wet, there was not a single available dog-friendly hotel room in town, and every person camped near us sounded like they had COVID. The highs were rare but extra joyous. In fact, one of my favorite moments on our entire trip happened in Valdez. We took a scenic drive down a dirt road outside of town, as we do when it’s raining. The rough road wound through misty mountains, and we blasted music, drank road sodas, and picked berries. We even sprayed an expired can of bear spray to see what would happen. It was easy, spontaneous, fun. And I realized I hadn’t let myself do that recently. I’d been so preoccupied with staying clean, staying organized, and staying dry that I’d forgotten to enjoy myself.
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| Entering Valdez... and the rain |
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| Mineral Creek Canyon |
As we left Valdez the forecast predicted rain every day for the next week. This was troubling because we were about to embark on the most remote backpacking trip of our lives, in Wrangell-St. Elias National Park. But first, we had to get there…
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To Be Continued
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