It was finally time for us to head to Wrangell- St. Elias National Park. Because we had adjusted our schedule a bit, we only had one day to rent bear canisters, find semi-normal dog food in a backwoods town, pack for our 5-day backpacking trip, and drive 180 miles to McCarthy, the last 60 of which were unpaved and unmaintained. Somewhere in the middle of all that, I had a nervous breakdown. We pushed on though, and made it to McCarthy without puncturing a tire on one of the infamous railroad spikes. Arriving in McCarthy, I could tell immediately that it was not your typical town, even for Alaska. For one, we couldn’t actually drive all the way to town. We parked our truck on one side of a footbridge and walked a mile down a dirt road into town (there’s also a shuttle tourists can take). The town is completely surrounded by Wrangell- St. Elias National Park. You take your shoes off before going into the hotel lobby, the unofficial mayor of town is a dog, and there are more 4-wheelers than vehicles on the streets. There are no paved roads or sidewalks, no trash services, and many homes don’t have running water. “Town” consists of two restaurants, one bar, one hotel, and a grocery store/liquor store/hardware store/icecream shop. I tried to soak up as much as I could but I was a little anxious about that backpacking trip. Filling out forms with questions about the colors and brands of our gear (in case of a rescue) did little to calm my nerves.
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| Downtown McCarthy |
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| The bridge leading to McCarthy |
Wrangell- St. Elias National Park is 13.2 million acres, the size of Yellowstone, Yosemite, and Switzerland combined. I knew we’d only see a fraction of a percentage of the park on one backpacking trip, especially if we had to bushwhack through alders and cross glacial streams. But we had a trick up our sleeves: an airplane. Wrangell Mountain Air does backcountry drop-offs and pickups in the park, and even takes dogs! When I called to inquire about it a few months back, they said the only rule was that your dog wasn’t allowed to touch the pilot.
Fast forward to the next morning, and as Owen and I tried to shove our packs into the tiny, 4-seater Cessna 185, I asked our pilot Bill about Denali. “Just don’t let her run to the back of the plane,” he cautioned. Otherwise, our weight would shift rapidly and we could crash. She didn’t quite want to run to the back of the plane so much as she wanted to get the hell off the plane. She was shaking like a leaf the entire flight. I can’t blame her, though. We were flying in a 40+ year old tin can of a plane, hurling through an unforgiving landscape of glaciers, mountains, and volcanoes.
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| Our Cessna 185 |
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| Bear spray strapped to the outside of the plane |
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| A tight fit |
We landed at the “airstrip” at the Wrangell Plateau which was no more than two dirt tracks worn in from plane tires. It was only fitting that it promptly started raining as soon as Bill left. There are no trails in the backcountry, so we set our own path across the tundra, and after about three miles we made it to a nice looking spot on the edge of the plateau, overlooking Long Glacier. We set up our tent as quickly as we could in the rain, then laid out all our wet rain gear in the vestibules to try to dry (who were we kidding?).
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| Searching for a spot to camp |
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| Smiling despite the rain |
It was only around noon but we promptly hunkered down in the tent and did not leave for several hours. We passed the time by reading, sleeping, and playing War, and wagered that the loser had to get out and pee first (both of us had to go, neither wanted to go out in the rain). We even broke our cardinal rule of backpacking and ate snacks in the tent. It just. kept. raining. We finally forced ourselves out to cook dinner, and I don’t think I’ve ever had a more miserable meal in my life. By bedtime, I was freaking out that our tent wouldn’t hold up in the rain, since we had several spots where water was dripping in. And without a waterproof tent out there, we were toast. It took me several hours that night to fall asleep.
I woke up the next morning and had two thoughts: we survived the night, and IT’S NOT RAINING! We got our first full view of Mt. Wrangell, a volcanic snow-covered monolith looming above the plateau. That day we stayed close to camp, explored some nearby lakes, and lounged in the sun and played card games. This time the wager was that the loser had to strip naked and run around the plateau. I was four cards away from losing when a plane flew overhead- a flightseeing tour. We cracked up imagining what they would have thought if they’d seen me! Eventually I did lose, but luckily the plane was long gone.
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| Denali enjoying the tundra as the clouds roll in |
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| Mt. Wrangell |
Day three we decided to venture farther out to search for Cheshnina Falls. With full day packs, we navigated by map and compass across the open tundra towards the falls, not sure exactly how long we’d be out or how far away it was. During a snack break, I looked up, and maybe forty feet away there were two caribou! They ran away, then came back, and repeated the process several times. I’m just grateful they were caribou and not bears. Right around lunch time, we finally made it to a viewpoint of Cheshnina Falls. What looked like a tiny speck on our map turned out to be a 300 foot high waterfall, cascading into the verdant, green, Cheshnina river valley below. The base of Mount Wrangell wasn’t too far from us, and it beckoned us to come closer, so we hiked up to get a better look, quickly encountering a fresh dusting of snow. The walk back to camp was long, arduous, and of course it started raining. All in all, we hiked about eight miles and rewarded ourselves with the highest calorie freeze dried meal we’d brought. We capped off the night with a few rounds of War. I quickly lost two games in a row.
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| Curious caribou |
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| Cheshnina Falls |
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| Fresh snow, fresh tracks |
The next morning we woke up to bluebird skies. After staring down at Long Glacier for three days, it was finally time to go explore it. According to my park guidebook, Long Glacier is a valley glacier, meaning it doesn’t have hidden crevasses or snow bridges and you don’t need to be roped up to safely navigate. We descended 1000 feet towards the glacier and found a suitable, albeit rocky, place to get down to the glacier and up on the ice. Owen and I strapped on our crampons and tested out our new found superpowers of being able to walk on ice. Denali didn’t need crampons; she deployed her “four paw drive” as we call it, and extended her nails to get traction. She did great on the ice, though she was nervous to jump over crevasses, rightly so. In fact, she usually picked the safest line so we followed her. We found crevasses both small and large, pools of bright blue meltwater, gurgling drainage holes, and steep, jagged ice formations. It was an otherworldly, beautiful, slightly terrifying landscape to be in. Instinctively, I knew it was not a place that humans were meant to linger. Back at camp that night, we passed the time by playing more card games. I noticed a strange soreness in my right hand. Was I getting an overuse injury from playing cards too much?
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| En route to Long Glacier |
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| Denali in her element |
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| Owen messing around |
The last morning of our backpacking trip we packed up our tent and the tundra looked so empty without it. What had at first felt like an unforgiving place that we needed to survive in for five days had become our little patch of tundra, our temporary home, our playground. As much as I was ready to take a shower and get out of the elements, I was sad to leave. We arrived at the airstrip about 45 minutes early and just soaked up the last views of this special place. Our plane arrived right on time and was flown by the same pilot as before, Bill. He was the first person we’d seen in five days and it felt like we were greeting an old friend. Right away he asked how our trip had been. We had an eager audience too, as Bill was dropping off three people for a backpacking trip. Even though we’d only been out there a couple days, I felt like a wise sage as they asked about wildlife, mosquitoes, and conditions we encountered.
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| Goodbye, Wrangell Plateau |
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| Overlooking the Long Glacier |
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| Denali found a caribou antler shed |
This plane was much bigger than the one we’d flown in on- a positively spacious 6 seater- so Denali could easily lay down and seemed a lot less nervous. She did manage to leave a giant puddle of drool on the floor from panting though. To be honest, I was also a lot less nervous, as we had made it out the other side of our trip. I sat back and relaxed as we flew high above the mountains and watched sheep navigating on scree fields and moose wading through ponds.
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| Backcountry airstrip |
We landed at the airstrip and got a ride back to McCarthy, but it was still too early to check into our hotel room so we weren’t sure what to do with ourselves. We relaxed on the hotel porch, and a shuttle driver rolled up and asked if we were going to Kennicot. It was one of those rare sunny, warm Alaskan days, too nice not to take advantage of. We looked at each other, shrugged, and said “Why not?”
Kennecot is an old copper mill town, five miles from McCarthy along a bumpy dirt road dotted with homesteads tucked into the woods. The mill hasn’t operated since 1938, but many of the buildings have been pristinely preserved or restored. History, machines, and the history of old machines? That’s Owen’s bread and butter! He joined a mill town tour while I aimlessly wandered around with Denali. By the time we met back up, the sun disappeared and it started drizzling. We were ready for the great indoors.
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| Kennecot mill town |
It turned out that our time indoors was short lived. We finally checked into our hotel room in McCarthy and it was the size of a broom closet. The only way Owen and I could be in there at the same time was if we were both laying in bed. Add in our backpacking packs and damp, dirty gear, plus another bag of stuff for our two nights in town, and it was like a scene out of Hoarders. I commandeered the communal lounge area to try to sort and organize but it was a lost cause. We shoved everything back in our room and went off in search of dinner.
We went to the Potato because we heard they were having live music and figured we’d catch some of it before turning in early. A group of three people asked if they could share our table, as it was starting to get pretty crowded. We bonded after we found out that two of them, Kristen and Pat, were from New Jersey. By that point the band had started playing, and the dance floor was packed with people clad in rain jackets, boots, and even onesies. Pat offered to buy us drinks and we couldn’t turn them down. One round turned into two, three, four, and we got on the dance floor, too. At one point Denali was even standing on top of a table. It was like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. I knew a little rain doesn’t stop Alaskans from having fun, I’d seen that before. But this was more than that. This was a full blown rager in the middle of a National Park. Historically, mill workers from Kennecot came to McCarthy to get their booze fix, so I guess they’re just keeping that legacy alive.
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| At the Potato |
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| A big crowd came out to listen to the band "Free Creatures" |
We stayed until the band ended. Due to some poor planning on our part we were out of dog food and couldn’t feed Denali dinner until we got more. We had some back at the truck, parked a mile away across that bridge. Kristen, Pat, and Kristen’s brother Dave were camping across the bridge so we agreed to all walk together. It was midnight, pitch black, and we had no headlamps or bear spray. At one point, I was talking to Dave when we realized Pat was gone. Eventually, he reappeared and said he dropped his wedding ring and then found it, somehow, in the dark. At the time, it was the funniest thing and we couldn’t stop laughing. We parted ways with our new friends, retrieved Denali’s food and some odds and ends, and then trudged back to town.
The next morning we were both exhausted but we dragged ourselves to breakfast. It was included with our stay; there was no way I was missing a free breakfast. The restaurant was crowded and a fellow traveler we’d met yesterday asked if she could share our table. I was in no mood to make small talk with a stranger but said yes anyway. I guess she took a liking to us and offered for us to live in her cabin outside Anchorage over the winter. An interesting prospect!
After breakfast we took a shuttle to Kennecot to do a hike I had been eagerly anticipating: the Root Glacier. Years ago, I saw a photo of a hiker on the Root Glacier and I’ve wanted to go ever since. In real life the glacier was spectacular but surprisingly crowded! At one point, I counted 30 people. It made us miss our solo experience on the Long Glacier during our backpacking trip, but we did our best to avoid the crowds as we explored. This glacier was smoother and flatter, making it a lot easier to walk on than Long Glacier. Afterwards, we treated ourselves to gigantic sandwiches loaded with prosciutto, pork, bacon, and melted cheese from the Meatza Wagon. The perfect antidote to our hangovers.
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| Exploring the Root Glacier |
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| Denali was very curious about the pool |
That evening we finally had time to relax. I caught up on my journal and tried to organize our hoard of gear. Before bed I was craving a little night time snack, so off we went in search of dessert. The grocery store was closed, the bar was out of desserts, and so was the Potato. There was only one place left: the fancy Salmon and Bear Restaurant. We were dressed in our dirty hiking clothes and by that time it was 9:30pm but I was desperate so I tentatively walked in and inquired. They had dessert! A chocolate torte with apricots, plated beautifully. I could’ve eaten three of them, easily. We got chatting with the server, who turned out to be the owner of Leyla, an old wooly Siberian husky we’d seen around town who looked just like Denali. The locals had even taken to calling Denali “Little Leyla.” It was nice to finally meet him and trade stories about adventuring with huskies and traveling in Alaska. As I was wondering just how much the fancy chocolate torte was going to set us back, he said that it was on the house. The only way our night could’ve been better is if a bag of chips materialized among the clutter in our room.
The next morning it was finally time to leave McCarthy. We enjoyed one last delicious, free breakfast, wandered among the dirt streets, and said goodbye. Even though we’d only been in town a few days, I was beginning to feel like a local. I’d fed some of the town dogs, helped search for a missing dog, hell, a few more days here and Denali would become a town dog! I was torn about leaving because there was so much we hadn’t seen, so much to still explore. But we desperately needed to organize and dry out our gear, wash dishes, restock on (reasonably priced) food, and do laundry, and we just couldn't do any of that in town. We were ready to move on.
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| Denali conspiring to join the pack of town dogs |
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| McCarthy, in a nutshell |
Chapter 2: Nabesna Road
August 16 - August 18, 2022
Some 200 miles from McCarthy is the start of the Nabesna Road, a 42 mile gravel road that enters the northern part of Wrangell- St. Elias National Park and is rumored to be even more remote than the McCarthy Road. With freshly laundered clothes and a restocked pantry, it was time for one more adventure in the park.
All in all, we spent three days and three nights along the Nabesna Road and experienced a little bit of everything. There was plenty of time for lazy mornings in camp, meditating on lake shores, and watching sunsets. It was just what we needed after our escapades in McCarthy. We didn’t lounge the entire time though…One day we hiked to old mine ruins at the top of steep, loose rock. We didn’t want to go back down the same way, so we bushwhacked through a long lost trail with strangers we met on the hike. Back at the truck, we encountered two hunters who had just spent three days making multiple trips to carry out a Dall sheep they’d gotten on a packrafting trip. I’m 99% sure they both had trench foot.
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| Sunset on the Nabesna Road |
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| View from above the mine ruins |
That night in the campground, a dog wandered over to us to say hello. His tag identified him as Buddy Jake from the hunting lodge down the road. Denali was quite fond of him, so later that night I took her for a walk to look for Buddy Jake again. As we walked by another couple’s campsite, the woman there sputtered that a dog (presumably Buddy Jake) had just chased off a grizzly bear! I immediately turned around, retrieved Owen and our bear spray, and then we went looking for signs of the bear and for Buddy Jake. We ended up at the hunting lodge where the owner’s kids came out to talk with us. We learned that Buddy Jake is a Karelian Bear Dog, which are bred to hunt big game. When we told them that he apparently chased off a bear, they said it was probably just a squirrel. I’m not sure who to believe…
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| Denali's new friend Jake |
The next day we set off to hike the Skookum Volcano Trail. The first part of the “trail” followed a rocky stream bed. After rock hopping and zigzagging across the stream for hours, I started referring to the hike as the “Stupid Volcano Trail.” Eventually we made it out of the creek bed and climbed a steep grassy slope up to a pass. We recovered for a long time at the top and watched 9 Dall sheep running around not far from us. Not such a stupid hike, after all!
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| Skookum Volcano Trail |
Chapter 3: HomeboundAugust 19 - September 3, 2022
With our big adventures in Wrangell- St. Elias behind us, it was finally time to start heading home. We didn’t need to be back to California until September 3 so we had some extra time for explorations along the way. In the Yukon though, the options were limited. Hell, we could barely find places to camp. Our first night back in Canada we camped at a pull-off just off the highway. It was pretty sad. The next night we vowed to do better. The Milepost mentioned a one mile access road to Lewes Lake, which sounded promising. After a couple wrong turns down private driveways, we found the lake. It more than made up for last night’s crappy spot: it was one of those sunset-and-a-beer kind of nights. I didn’t think the site could get any better until Owen woke me up in the middle of the night insisting that I look outside: the northern lights were flickering across the sky!
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| Short hike in Kluane National Park |
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| Enjoying the fading light at Lewes Lake |
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| Blue skies at Lewes Lake the next morning |
The next day, we wanted to stay in an RV park so we could do laundry and take showers. We were still in the middle of nowhere in the Yukon, so there weren’t a lot of options. We came across one RV park and took a quick tour (always a good idea before you pay for the site, we’ve learned). The laundry area was fine but the bathrooms had a weird smell and the showers were like something out of a horror movie. We decided to stay anyway. Why? Because Owen said he’d used worse showers, as if that were appropriate justification. All in all, it wasn’t the most glamorous place we’ve slept, but it got the job done.
We continued south on the Alcan Highway, into British Columbia and through Liard Hot Springs. We weren’t Liard newbies; we stopped there four years ago on our motorcycle trip up to Alaska, and were thrilled to be back. We hit a little snafu, though: the main campground was full so we had to camp in the overflow area. For the same price as a regular site we got a dirt parking lot and world’s most fly-infested pit toilet. We also learned that BC Parks had recently constructed an electric wildlife fence around the campground, but not around the overflow lot. The fence was to keep out the bears, but I guess they figured the campers at the overflow lot could fend for themselves. There was a pretty scrappy group of older Canadians camping near us that I would’ve bet money on against a griz. Any remaining frustrations disappeared though, when we soaked in the hot springs. It was just as we’d remembered: a lush, peaceful oasis.
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| The path to the hot springs |
The first major town we came to south of Liard was Fort Nelson. We pulled in hangry, hot, and dirty. We sulked at the visitor’s center for awhile, then bought some cold drinks and resolved to find a dispersed camping site. Just as we’d found a site on a river bed and pulled out our drinks, Owen noticed a minivan stuck in the sand nearby. We drove over, hooked up our toe strap, and pulled them out. The minivan’s occupants were a young couple, their 3-year old daughter, and their friend. They asked if we wanted to hang out for a bit, and Owen and I looked at each other and said “Why not?” Famous last words.
Sometimes when we help people with car troubles, we get offered twenty bucks. This time, we got offered cocaine. It wasn’t immediate though. Over the course of the next couple hours, we collected wood, built a fire, drank our drinks, they ran home to get their dog so he could meet Denali, they ran out to get Tim Horton’s coffee. Then the cocaine came out. We graciously declined, then entered into a fascinating, albeit hard to track conversation about the meaning of life, the universe, and outer space. When they finally left, Owen and I kept shaking our heads and asking each other what the hell just happened. The only casualties were: tons of bug bites, sand everywhere, and a slightly later than intended bedtime. Even so, we immediately decided to take a break from helping strangers with car trouble for the time being.
The next day we checked into a hotel to rest and commenced our extreme recovery method of laying in bed and watching movies all day while feasting on pizza and popcorn. The rejuvenating effects wore off quickly, though. After Fort Nelson we had long days of driving through a Canadian heat wave, which I didn’t know was possible. We cooled off in spray parks, in random rivers, and with icecream, but without A/C in the truck we were pretty miserable. Then one night, Owen’s sleeping pad sprung a leak and completely deflated, and Denali refused to share her pad with him. I didn’t think a 31-year old was able to have a temper tantrum, but I was wrong.
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| Denali vegged out too |
We still had some extra time before we needed to be back in California and we decided to spend it in Jasper National Park. Arriving in the park felt like arriving at an oasis after days of trekking across a desert. The heat broke, the rain came, and there was stuff to do! Hikes and restaurants and bars and campgrounds and dog parks. The options were overwhelming. Finally we settled on a plan. One day we strolled the Valley of the Five Lakes loop and saw the quintessential bright turquoise waters of the Canadian Rockies, made even more dramatic by the moody skies. Another day we brought Denali canoeing for the first time on Maligne Lake, and luckily didn’t capsize in the 40 degree water. The day after that we hoofed it up the Sulphur Skyline Trail, fought heavy winds, and were rewarded with 360 degree views at the summit. Each night we retreated to our tent at Whistlers Campground, which was just renovated with brand new bathrooms and showers that were always spotless. The days of horror movie showers were behind us! But it almost felt too luxurious, and I missed the simplicity of primitive campsites.
From Jasper, it was two full days of driving to get to our friends’ house in North Bend, Washington, near Seattle. We drove along the mountainous Coquihalla Highway that crosses 11 major avalanche tracks. Our final border crossing back into the US was easy enough, though when the border agent asked what was in the truck, Owen blurted out the only things we weren’t supposed to have: lunch meat and lettuce. He waved us through anyway.
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| Mt Robson, BC |
We arrived at Madeline and Evan’s house that evening and for the next day and a half did what we always do when we’re together: ate delicious food, consumed delicious drinks, and enjoyed the outdoors. Our method of travel was stand up paddle boards (another first for Denali!) There’s nothing finer than spending a warm summer day on the water with good friends and good dogs.
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| Lake Wenatchee, WA |
From Madeline and Evan’s, we had two days of driving and one night of camping until we were home. Our last night of camping in southern Oregon we feasted on hot dogs, chips, and flavored water. Not as fancy as our steak and broccoli meals in the beginning, but it was just as enjoyable. The crickets were chirping, the moon was out, and I didn’t want our trip to end. The next morning, as we approached the California border, a familiar sight greeted us: wildfire smoke. Yup, we were definitely almost home.
Just a few miles from home we stopped at the Summit Store, our local mountain grocery store, for dinner. It felt surreal, sitting there on the patio eating sandwiches, talking about how the trip went. All in all, we were on the road for 56 days, camped 41 of those nights, and drove approximately 10,000 miles. We could finally talk about our amazement that the truck didn’t break down, that nothing major went wrong (neither of us wanted to jinx it on the trip, so we never talked about it). I wish I’d taken a photo of us that night at the Summit Store. I’d spent so much time outside I got freckles around my lips, and it’d been so long since Owen cut his hair and beard that he’d gone “feral” (his words, not mine).
Despite the fact that these blog posts were so long, there was so much I left out. Like how I finally learned to truly drive a manual. Like the time I saw a bear cub and thought it was a black cat. Like meeting a guy at a remote campground in Alaska who lives 15 miles down the road from us in California. Like how we got asked multiple times if we were mushers, if we were from Alaska, and if Denali was a sled dog. Like the fact that we consumed over 70 granola bars, a useless stat that I decided to track.
One of our goals for this trip was to have the space and time to figure out what we’re doing with our lives, and what our 5-year, or even 2-year plan is. We didn’t find the answers to those questions in Alaska. Instead, the trip reminded me of the values that I’ve had deep down for awhile now: that a simple life is the most enjoyable, that suffering allows you to more fully appreciate the good times, and that being outside fuels the body, mind and spirit like nothing else.
It’s been over two months since we got back from Alaska. There have been more adventures and more travels, but I’ll save those for another time.
