Doing What Comes Naturally: Fun on Triple Lakes Trail

To read my Alaska journal from the beginning, click here.

Bonus poem: My Nice Dry Cabin.

We were feeling overwhelmed.

Standing at the counter in Denali National Park’s crowded Wilderness Access Center, we had intended to buy bus tickets into the backcountry. One road snaked deep into the park; the ticket allowed you to get on and off any bus, anywhere you wanted, and explore the backcountry, as far in as your purchased destination.

But apparently we didn’t fully understand the system. Yes, one could hop on and off any bus, the ranger patiently explained. But we must first choose a specific departure date and a specific departure time. Buses left every hour. Which bus, exactly, would we be on? The ranger’s fingers hovered over the computer keyboard, ready to punch in our answer, while a long line of people waited behind us.

I hadn’t anticipated needing exact dates and times. In retrospect, it makes sense– they don’t want to oversell any one departing bus. But we felt pressure as we stood there talking to the ranger, holding up the whole line as we tried to sort out the information in our heads. Quick! Which bus, what time? So we stepped aside to discuss things.

It felt like a stressful start to our day.

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Perched on Denali’s Doorstep: Healy Alaska

To read my Alaska journal from the beginning, click here.

Bonus poem: My Nice Dry Cabin.

Today we would leave our gorgeous cabin in Seward and drive through Anchorage and beyond, about seven hours north, to the town of Healy, perched on the doorstep of Denali National Park.

Seven hours of driving? We better be fortified! We stopped at a little coffee shop on the edge of town, where the clerk took our order for coffee and scones. That should do it for seven hours, right? As she handed us the bag, she chirped, “Scones are still warm, freshly delivered by the bakery/hardware store!”

A combination bakery/hardware store!

Come on in! Get your blueberry muffins here! Would you like nails or screws with that? Half-price sale today on all cinnamon rolls and garden hoses!

I love Alaska. It doesn’t do anything like everyone else.

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The Seavey Dogs: Iditarod Champions and Trail Runners Extraordinaire

To read my Alaska journal from the beginning, click here.

Bonus poem: My Nice Dry Cabin.

We were rushing breathlessly down the trail, the last ones to arrive for the 10 AM group tour of the Seavey Sled Dogs. The Seaveys are a multigenerational family of dog lovers and Iditarod champions. The Iditarod— a grueling 1000-mile dogsled race across the face of Alaska— takes place in the freezing dark of Alaska’s harsh winter. Only the most intrepid even attempt it. Only true champions finish. The Seaveys have done it— have won it!— multiple times. We were here to get a tiny taste of the Iditarod by being pulled in a wheeled cart by the famous dogs themselves.

We joined the group and tromped down the trail. Our guide stopped before reaching the kennels; one of the sled dogs was on display, standing on a large box while the guide talked about the dogs, the brutal race, the Seaveys—

Actually, I have no idea what he said.

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Exhilaration on Resurrection Bay

To read my Alaska journal from the beginning, click here.

Bonus poem: My Nice Dry Cabin.

We presented ourselves to the Kenai Fjords Tours office for our 12-hour boat cruise to Northwestern Lagoon (two fjords over from Seward’s Resurrection Bay) for wildlife-ogling and glacier-viewing. Dark clouds loomed overhead. Rain spit from the skies; the forecast promised significantly more. Inanely, the tour operators said: “The weather isn’t good.”

Apparently we had three options. We could: (1) cancel the boat tour for a full refund, (2) put the tour off until a nicer day, or (3) go for it, understanding that the captain might elect to turn back early, in which case we would receive a partial refund.

Well duh! That’s easy! Door #3, please!

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An Unparalleled Day: Kayaking to Aialik Glacier

To read my Alaska journal from the beginning, click here.

Bonus poem: My Nice Dry Cabin.

We presented ourselves to Kayak Adventures Worldwide at 7:15 AM. The skies were clear and blue; it was freezing cold. This is summer? We met Nick, our guide, and were told that we were the only people who had signed up for the Aialik (“Eye-AL-ick”) Glacier kayak tour.

A private tour? Works for us!

We boarded a water taxi, captained by a vibrant 30-year-old woman, a 4th– generation Sewardan. “We have life rafts for twenty people,” she quipped to the crowd of way over twenty people. “First come, first served!”

I liked her.

It was a three-hour boat ride out of Resurrection Bay, around the rocky cape, and into Aialik Bay (where we would climb into kayaks and start our paddle to the glacier).

Martin and I spent the entire three-hour trip pressed against the front of the bow, gripping the railing, admiring rocky cliffs and green mountains, and scanning the sea. Looking straight down, we could watch the boat slicing through the water, could feel the waves below. It was cold and windy. Bundled up in my hooded sweatshirt and Gortex jacket (hood cinched tight, wrist cuffs sealed, all battened down!), Gortex pants and gloves, I was toasty warm. Not one other passenger spent the entire time in the front with us. They’d venture out and quickly scurry back into the boat cabin’s warmth.

Loving every minute!

Loving every minute!

But we were exhilarated. As we left the protected bay and entered the actual Gulf of Alaska, the swells increased and I rode them with pure joy, surfing them up and down, using my knees. The boat soared up to the crest of a wave, then plunged down into its trough – and I would find myself airborne, clinging to that railing for dear life, whoop whoop whoop!– then the boat was tossed up another wave and crashed down the back side again. Over and over and over, those swells kept rolling in.

It was a thrilling, wild ride. I loved it. I kept looking back up at the Captain, and she’d grin at me, giving a thumbs-up.

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Falling in Love at the SeaLife Center

To read my Alaska journal from the beginning, click here.

Bonus poem: My Nice Dry Cabin.

It rained hard all night, and was still raining as darkness brightened to gray. We propped ourselves up in bed with comfy pillows and, through the huge windows, watched a sea otter swim slowly by. It dove and rolled in the bay, feeding and grooming as rain poured from the sky.

Watching sea otters while lying in bed. I’m never, ever leaving.

Because it was forecast to rain all day, we decided on an indoor activity, and duly presented ourselves to the Alaska SeaLife Center. It is an enchanting aquarium full of informational exhibits and videos, glass tanks with all kinds of fish, crabs, and jellies, plus several large animal enclosures. Each exhibit so enthralled me that I could barely tear myself away – but then the next exhibit would enthrall me, too.

First stop was the aviary. I knew it’d be a cool place when I read the sign at the door: Please do not touch the birds.

Are you kidding me? Don’t touch the birds? They need a sign stating that? Is there even a possibility of touching them? Surely they couldn’t be that close, that accessible.

Yes they could, and yes they were.

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Seward, Alaska: Getting There

We were flying to Anchorage, the starting point for our two-week vacation in Alaska. And because “vacation” is the operative word, the forecast was, of course, for rain.

Heavy rain. Like, the entire first week. Possibly longer.

Looks like another classic Beebee vacation!

And since it’s Alaska, let’s expect some snow during our summer vacation, shall we? Why not!

From the plane, the panhandle of Alaska gave us stunning views of mountains, shimmering lakes, and snow. But as we neared our destination, clouds gathered and blotted out the majestic peaks and green valleys. We descended, diving down into the white-out, until suddenly the wheels were skidding across the runway.

Alaska! We couldn’t wait to get right into the middle of it.

In the rush to start our adventure, Martin left his jacket on the plane. You just can’t venture into Alaska, even in the summer, without plenty of warm layers. So he ducked back up the hallway from baggage claim, ignoring the conspicuous “Exit Only!” and “Do Not Enter!” signs, intending to slip onto the plane and grab his jacket. He made it about two steps before being stopped by a veritable wall of stern-looking, beefy security guards. For a bunch of big guys, they sure materialized silently, from seemingly nowhere.

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