Road Warriors

The bugs are bad in this site. We’d had a general reprieve from the bugs the past few days. We can’t really make sense of where they are bad and where they are not. Is it the area? Is it camping in gravel vs not gravel? We have no idea. 

In this site, it’s little flies. Not black biting flies, but smaller, stickier, dumber flies. They land on your face, in your hair… everywhere. And they don’t “shoo away”. They are super easy to kill. Which is good? But also gross. 

We wandered down the road to the Crow Creek Gold Mine where we assumed there would be some port-a-potties — or at least something to show for the $35 privilege of camping there. We were not disappointed. There were port-a-potties. But not garbage.

We wandered around the gold mine museum, which was absolutely adorable. The flowers were AMAZING. I was more enamored with that than the historical value… we walked along the river… I got my newly laundered, favorite socks muddy and was quite cross about it… 

On our way out, Dave went inside to ask them if we could pay for another night, since the weather forecast here was better than almost anywhere else and there were a few things we could tick off our lists here. And, although we had the whole place to ourselves last night, apparently OUR site was reserved for tonight (oh the irony…). So we picked another and dragged the camper to that one before heading out to talk to a kayaking tour place and to go find a place to rent some MOUNTAIN BIKES.

Dave had sat me down to propose doing the kayaking trip out of here. He pulled his phone out of the holster, unlatched the safety and loaded the premium weather app once again. He used terms like hourly percentage and satellite imagery. I nodded my head a lot and said “mmmhmmmm….” I DIDN’T say “Puffins.” I knew damn well the Spencer Glacier did not have puffins. If I’m not willing to do the planning, I have to be willing to keep my mouth shut and trust the planner. I said, “Sounds great! I agree!” 

The Chugach Adventure Guides offered all kinds of trips to see Spencer Glacier. We stopped there and Dave hopped out to got talk to them, as they were not answering their phone. He was in there forEVER. I thought maybe he slipped out the back and was on Spencer Glacier without me. 

When he finally came back, he said, “Well. Unfortunately the train is full tomorrow.” (You need to take the train for the out and back leg to the glacier because there are no roads.).

“Ohhhh. Dang,” I said.

“But I signed us up for a helicopter instead.”

And that, dear friends, is why Dave is the planner and I am not. I can tell you with 100% certainty that our trip would be 95% less fun if I were in charge.

I get to ride in my very first helicopter tomorrow!

But first I have to mountain bike.

So off we went to the mountain bike place.

The good news is: they have e-mountain bikes.

The bad news is: they have e-mountain bikes.

Obviously, it’s good news is that they are e-bikes. But it’s also bad. Because, since they are e-bikes, we have the ability to ride UP the mountain. Which, despite being e-bikes, is still really, REALLY hard.

And, actually, terrifying. Because these bikes weigh about 60 lbs. Hard to describe, but there is a fine line between not enough assist and too much assist. Your wheels spin out on the shale/gravel path — which is SUPER steep — and if you stop you are basically screwed. Because you can’t get going again. When you DO eventually get going, the assist kicks in and you risk popping a wheelie — which can also be terrifying. 

Mind you, this is MY experience, not Dave’s. I’m a TERRIBLE biker. I have no idea why, but it’s a fact. Dave had dialed into a formula that worked for him with the assist and gears — not to mention the fact that he seemed to not have a problem getting going again on a steep incline. I never really figured any of it out. The only formula that seemed to work for me was 25% assist so I didn’t risk death — which wasn’t enough to get me up the steep stuff. At one point I simply couldn’t ride up the shale path any further, so I screamed a little as Dave sped past me, hopped off and attempted to push the bike up. It was so steep, and the bike so heavy, that I truly could not do it. I could not push the bike up the hill. I turned around. I realized I also couldn’t ride it down (too steep). And it dawned on me: what in the HELL am I even DOING HERE???

I did make it to the top. It was comforting to hear Dave equally concerned about our route down. Comforting because I wasn’t the only one. Discomfiting because… we were stuck. We HAD to ride down. There was no other way.

To say that we were way beyond our abilities is putting so mildly as to be laughable. Survival was my goal. Prayer was my technique. Brakes were my friend. We pretty much crawled down various blue downhill trails (intermediate, people. There were no green trails). Again, these bikes are SO HEAVY and SO DIFFERENT than a regular mountain bike. The ludicrousness of the guys in the shop sending us off to ride this mountain downhill on these bikes is insanity. I’m pretty sure we could be featured on a segment of “Lucky to Be Alive.”

We were (lucky to be alive). But we also payed for a full day rental, so our fun wasn’t over just yet. We set off on the next recommended trail: Winner Creek. Thankfully, it was a tame, well-maintained trail. I couldn’t get over how cool it was. Vail needs something like that to hold up to all the summer tourists it gets. The trails in Vail are so beaten down…

I was singing and feeling all cool, like a real mountain biker as we sped past pedestrians on a smooth gravel path. “Now THIS is mountain biking!” 

(Sarcasm/not sarcasm)

We kept going, as we vaguely remembered the guy at the shop telling us how there was one trail that went behind Alyeska mountain and popped back out in Girdwood. Not that he was really to be trusted, though, having sent us straight up the mountain with tiny little plastic caps on our heads to protect us from death. But we weren’t thinking about that. We were just enjoying a trail we could actually navigate.

I’m not sure how long we biked before the trail became more of a single track. Several miles, for sure. It was gorgeous. And so was the weather. We did eventually hit terrain that got pretty tricky – 90 degrees turns between rocks and loose shale with narrow lanes between large boulders. I have this problem keeping my front tire steady — especially pedaling uphill. It wildly veers side to side. Not good when you need to thread the needle. Thread the needle or DIE, that is. That’s how it feels anyway. If not die, then experience very serious bodily harm.

There is ALWAYS the tendency for both of us to “keep going” in any situation: hiking, driving and biking. “Just to see.” It’s something we both suffer from. So I can’t even blame Dave. But in this case I pulled the pin. I tapped out. I quit. I told him “I can’t do this. It’s too scary.”

And then I felt like a super big baby. A weeny. I felt guilty. 

Which is all stupid. I shouldn’t feel like that. And I tried not to…

So we turned around, me behind Dave. Verbally giving myself a pep talk. Praying to God. Telling myself to “Relax.” And “Just take your time.” And…. my tire hit a boulder and I skidded sideways and jumped off my bike and the seat rammed into my butt while I dug my feet into the loose rabble as the tire went over the edge and the spiked pedal hit my calf and I hung on trying to hold that stupid-heavy bike and myself from rolling over the cliff. 

I did manage to not die.

And I got back on my bike. And was thanking God for sparing me. And I came upon Dave walking back down the trail to come find me (he heard me scream) and I started crying and couldn’t stop. All adrenaline. But I think it freaked Dave out cuz he was super nice to me for the rest of the day.

I’ll have to remember that. Maybe pull it out of my back pocket someday.

Aside from that relatively short section of the trail, it was quite nice. We finished our day with the bikes and turned them back in. As we were talking to the guys, I was telling them about my trouble doing the uphill on the mountain and getting stuck and one of them goes, “ohhhhh. We forget to show you how to do WALK MODE…” There is a feature where the bike will self-propel as you walk beside it. OMG I wanted to KILL them both. Squeeze their skrawny little hippy necks. Walk mode….  

We headed back to the campsite hoping the bugs wouldn’t be too bad. I made pork chops with a big portobello mushroom that i found in the cooler …

which I had bought to go with the steak from a few nights ago but forgot! Also some potatoes and broccoli. Tasty fare. I forced Dave to make a fire since I had dumped some meat juice in the fire ring — seriously, what are you supposed to do with stuff like that in bear country? I have no idea…

We do like that this campground is at least quiet. We got to thinking that we probably needed to stay here one more night so I hopped online (another perk of this location) to reserve it. And…

You guessed it.

It was already reserved for tomorrow.

So we found YET ANOTHER site that was open for tomorrow. We need to be to the Chugach glacier outfitters for our helicopter trip at 7:30 am so we debated moving the camper before going to bed but opted to do it in the morning.

Things are quiet in the campground this morning, which I guess makes sense when you stay up well past midnight since that’s about the time it starts to get dark. When I was reading forums while planning the trip (what little I did), I read numerous posts trying to prepare first-time visitors for the locals and their ability to seemingly party all night long. I get it now. 

It was about 8:30 or 9 when we pulled out with plans to head toward Girdwood and the ski town of Alyeska. Dave is doing ALL the planning now because my time is spent cooking, writing and posting. I’m working FULL TIME, people. The least he can do is plan my time off. He seems a bit… resentful of this. But when the talent scouts stumble across the Road Warrior series and offer me a book deal, which will — of course — be followed by a movie deal, maybe he will turn that frown upsidedown? 

Just to be clear, I’m only going to sign over the rights to the movie if Dave and I get to play ourselves. If they cast someone like say… Greg Kinear as Dave, I’d never be able to hit my finer notes of exasperation, humor and downright annoyance. Just saying.

All I’m saying is: I don’t want to plan. So I’m practicing my excuses for getting out of it. Besides. I’m a TOTAL cheapskate. When Dave plans, we end up in planes, on trains, and at a bar with a bottle of wine in front of us. It’s a win-win for everyone involved. Including the local economy. 

I am in a sort of “I’m sick of this” mood… kind of missing my routine at home, my garden, my friends. Feeling like we don’t know what the heck we are doing… nothing huge. Just a general malaise…

Dave wanted to go back to the Noisy Goose for breakfast again, but it was too out of the way so I tried to find something similar in Wasilla. Wasilla is (apparently) a big town. Everyone we have met on the road who lives in Alaska seems to live in Wasilla. There were exactly two breaksfast places. Both rated a solid 3/5 — Which is not very good in the Googleverse. But beggars can’t be chooses so we picked the first one we drove by. The name doesn’t matter. It was quite bad. Why, why, WHY did I order the eggs Bennie? I guess because I thought you couldn’t screw that up? News flash: you CAN screw it up. Yuk. Wish I had a picture of the unnaturally yellow hollandaise. Still, I powered my way through most of it and washed it down with a few Mike and Ikes when we got back out to the car so that I could get the taste out of my mouth. 

And I am not even trying to be funny. I really did eat it and I really did eat Mike and Ikes in the car immediately after. How ridiculous is that?

Dave had corned beef hash. He said it wasn’t that bad, but that it also wasn’t very good. I snuck a piece of his toast and even thought that tasted a bit off. They didn’t have half and half for coffee. Just coffeemate.

OK, ok, you get the picture, I’ll move on. We continued on the road and since we were driving right past the fly shop I talked about earlier, we stopped back in because we needed more tippet. You see, upon returning to camp yesterday, I set about to make more bead rigs for when we are in the Kenai and realized I had lost my whole tippet holder off my fishing pack. Somehow, in all the bushwacking and tripping and falling, it must have come off. How, I cannot even fathom. It’s almost as much of a mystery as the solar panel… I would need a video showing just how difficult that thing was to attach to the pack. It wove behind an attachment point that isn’t ripped… It makes no sense. And I am very sad about it. Thankfully, I had taken off several of the smaller tippet spools we wouldn’t be using, so I have SOME tippet left (fluorocarbon tippet is spendy) just not the sizes we need for Alaska. Good reason to swing back in.

Had another fun chat with A.J., and headed toward Girdwood and Alyeska, the ski-town just south of Anchorage. 

We drove through Anchorage, which I had been looking forward to, since we had not yet seen any real “city” in Alaska. But Anchorage — at least what we saw of it — cannot be called a true city. It seemed more like a big suburb. But of what? We’ll have a better look at it when we head back there some time in the next week to hit the museum and pick up the grill regulator…

There weren’t a lot of camping options, so I made a quick rez at an old gold mine that is open for tours that had 8 camping spots, too. It actually wasn’t bad and — oddly — we had the whole place to ourselves! It was almost like dispersed camping, but hey!, you get to pay $35 fee for it! 

I was gravely opposed to paying for camping at the start of this trip, but I’m 100% over it. Well… I lie. I’m 75% over it. I know I said we were learning that even gravel turnouts that had signs clearly posted saying “NO CAMPING” are completely OK to camp at (verified by every local we have asked), but we haven’t trusted it. I can say that we are *almost* at the point of trusting it. So *maybe* you will find us at one of those some night soon. 

It was mid day when we got set up — and a beautiful day — I crawled in the camper (mostly to get away from the flies but also because I was still in my malaise) and laid in the sun coming through the stargazer window on my neatly made bed and recharged. Like our missing solar panel should have doing. It was warm. My book was good. It was glorious. It was just what I needed. No moving. No needing to be anywhere. Just reading.

When I thought Dave would lose his mind from boredom, I re-emerged, like a beautiful butterfly. Metamorphosis!

The “grim” forecast that Dave had been harping on and on about for the past many days seemed to me to be completely wrong. When I mentioned that to him, he quickly drew his phone from its holster, unlatched the safety and loaded his premium weather app as ammo to prove himself right. “See this?” (pulling up Seward, AK forecast).

100%. 100%. 100%. 100%. (That is the daily likelihood of rain in Seward.)

–Where I have been harping on and on about wanting to go.

To see the PUFFINS.

I didn’t drive (ride) 6,000 miles to NOT see the damn PUFFINS. I need to see the Puffins. In Seward.

But Dave is the planner now. And Dave is very good at it. And that is why we are in Girdwood, on the top of Alyeska Mountain in 100% sunshine drinking a delicious beer.

So I nod my head and say, “Yes…I see what you mean. That makes a lot of sense. That was really smart. I really appreciate that. This is beautiful.”

And lots of stuff like that so that Dave will keep planning everything for me. 

Because, you know, he’s good at it.

We had done a drive-through of the ski-town of Girdwood on our way to the campsite and found a “Laundromall” with a huge sign claiming to be the “#1 voted laundromat in North America”.

Bold.

But they also had showers. 

We were IN. And we had planned ahead and brought our laundry (and sheets, which is a whole nuther story) along with us from camp. 

And, after our tram ride, we headed to the laundry, loaded the machines, took fabulous hot showers, and headed to a sunny outside bar at a cute restaurant to eat at while the laundry dried. 

The food was amazing. We split a huge app of little clams and toasted bread. Then I had shrimp and grits and dave had a pork chop. We even got a bottle of wine! I guess with clean hair and underwear, we decided to be fancy like that.

This was the total mental-health day I so badly needed. I was so grateful. 

The only thing left to do when we got back to camp was to go to bed!

Wait. First I had to make the bed. Don’t you hate that?

Words can’t describe just how difficult it is to put sheets on this memory foam mattress in the camper. It’s heavy, you can hardly bend it. You definitely can’t do it from outside.

But Dave took this flattering picture of me in the process and I include it here for your entertainment:

So I finished making the bed, Dave waiting patiently and doing his part…

And we went to bed. On clean sheets. And I’m here to say there is nothing better than clean sheets. Ever. Even camping.

You will be relieved to hear that our “end unit” in the parking-lot-turned-campground still allowed for half-naked middle-of-the-night potty runs. I know. I was relieved, too. In more ways than one.

I had a LOT of writing to catch up on and tried to make some progress on that while also ordering Dave around: “More coffee, please.” “Can you make me some yogurt?” Blah blah blah. 

When I sensed Dave could take no more, I got dressed and we headed out to slay those formerly-elusive trout. 

Trying hard to remember ALL that A.J. had taught us during his 30 minute soliloquy of words and fishing advice, we made our way back up the Parks Highway. There were three creeks before we’d hit Montana Creek (all the way back to Talkeetna). We knew Montana would be busy, based on the fact it’s Saturday and it was a zoo on Thursday. We were hoping to find some good fishable water before that.

First up was Little Willow. As we pulled into the turn-out and surveyed the many cars already there — several of which had trailers attached — I conjured up one of A.J.’s many, many sentences… “if you see a boat trailer, keep moving. That water is blown out.” I repeated it to Dave asking him, “Did A.J. mean *this* river?” Dave, too, recalled him saying something along those lines, so we kept moving.

The next river was Sheep Creek, which required a drive down a 2 mile side road to get to the access point followed by a quarter mile hike down a steep path. It was weird: lots of fishermen, most with spinning gear, but a few with fly rods… all headed to the main river (Susitna) to fish for — we presumed — salmon. Honestly, we have no idea. Even armed with everything we learned from A.J., we still are 85% in the dark about all of this. 

Regardless, we geared up and headed down to the Susitna with plans to hike around the point to the mouth of Sheep Creek — where we figured we’d find fishable water. But it was still silty and deep and fast. We made ten casts from the bank — only because we were already there — and left.

Next on the map was Goose Creek. But A.J. did not talk about that one or indicate any access points. But as we checked it out, it looked fishable, there was a turnout, and there were fewer cars. So we stopped. We grabbed our rods and headed down to the water — very quickly coming upon the first group of other fishermen. Again, in our SUPREME RESPECT for their water, we scrambled up the steep bank and headed into the thick brush to give them a wide berth. Shortly thereafter, we saw ANOTHER group. So we continued to bushwack through the jungle. Right about the time we thought we were safe, we HEARD another group and had to continue on our death march.

It was AWFUL. “Never again. Never again. Never again.” I said to myself as I tried to keep up with Dave. At some point I tumbled into a gross, unseen hole filled with orange water, barely managing to stay dry. I didn’t cry. But I was close. 

Yes, yes. We finally popped out on to the creek and miraculously there were no dogs, no cars, no atvs. There WERE chainsaws running somewhere nearby, but that made sense because there were a few houses on the creek. In Alaska, you legally fish the high water mark, so — as long as you stay in the water — you can keep fishing right on by.

We had actually popped out onto a nice bend and were finally able to fish. Dave needed a get on the board, so he took what looked to be the best water, while I casted downstream of him — keeping an eye on Dave’s indicator because his drift looked so good. I wasn’t really paying attention to mine when (of course. it always happens that way) I got a bite that nearly pulled the rod out of my hands. Dave was… exasperated. But also happy for me and, gentleman that he is, even landed the very big rainbow. No pic though, because after I unhooked it, it flopped out of my hands and shimmied through super shallow water to freedom. Dave then moved down and caught two small ones. We were encouraged!

But… that was it for the rest of the day. We fished a lot of really great water. We saw a lot of sockeyes in the water and assumed there were also trout in there, but they were having none of our tantalizing plastic beads. 

I saw a few schools of three to four arctic char (I think) — which have bright orange bellies and a bit of white slashing on their fins like brook trout. They, too, laughed at us as we tried to fish to them.

One of the groups we leaped-frogged continued to press up upstream, but after a few hours we decided to call it a day and turned around, stopping to talk to them on the way. They were fishing streamer rigs and had a couple takes but it didn’t sound like they had landed any. I was bored so I tied a streamer on and attempted to cast it across the river. 100% fail. I hate casting streamers. I am so bad at it.

Dave was eager to get back to that first spot and try to catch a couple more. When I eventually caught back up to him, he had, indeed caught three or four more small ones. He wanted me to throw the streamer in and see what happened. On the first cast, a large rainbow grabbed it, but I probably did it wrong. And it came off. 

We played around a bit more and continued back downstream towards the car.

And to our snacks. I was STARVING.

We made plans to go back to camp and have an early dinner and then try our luck on the Willow near the campground. We have been THOROUGHLY entertained watching the veritable CONGA LINE of fishermen going to and from the Susitna river near our site. It is endless. And MYSTERIOUS. 

While Dave got the fire going for our steak, I went over to talk to one of the families camping near us to try to figure out where everyone was going and what they were doing once they got there. I learned: it’s a mix of mostly salmon fishermen and just a few trout fishermen. Salmon seekers mostly fish the Susitna with heavy rods and simple lures. One guy we talked to caught 30 Humpies (Pinks). Most don’t keep the Humpies. They mostly want Sockeye. There were people are lined up all along the shore casting, casting, casting. Here are some pics of that:

On the Willow River, which, tee’s into the Susitna near the campground, you are more likely to catch trout. The guy I talked to said to reach the main fork of the Willow just “Cross at the boat launch. Go ‘UP AND OVER’ to the next tributary. So that was our plan…

But first, back to dinner.

We cooked our dinner (steak on the campfire, broccoli and polenta) and made our plan. Dinner was interrupted by John, who wanted a tour of our camper. Super nice guy. Super fast talker. Super big into teardrops. We learned more about fishing in Alaska and how it is different from Colorado. (More confirmation that sneaking up on fish is 100% not necessary.) Also interesting: they don’t talk about 3x or 4x or 5x tippet. It’s 10lb and 12lb test — more aligned with spin fishing. Important info if you don’t want to look like a green-horn tourist!!

So off we headed to the boat launch to walk “up and over” to the main fork of the willow, just like I was told.

We went up and over. And we walked. And we walked. And we walked. Through bog and marsh. Through wild rose bushes and fallen trees. Through willows and spikey spruce. Through ankle deep mud and holes of inconclusively deep water…

“Never again. Never again. Never again…”

We KNEW there had to be a path somewhere. There was NO WAY those chubby guys from across the campground with their chubby kids could have done what we were currently doing…

I had layered up for the evening of fishing because there also was “no way I was gonna be cold!” 

I wasn’t cold. I was sweating from head to ass crack. And when we FINALLY came out on the creek there was — no surprise — three visible groups of other people. When we asked them how they GOT here, one of the couples vaguely gestured to the marsh and said, “oh we just followed a maze of paths over there…”

I was fricken SWIMMING back before I was going back the way we came.

Nevertheless, we were there to fish. And fish we did. Futilely. The only good news being that no one else was catching anything either.

Well, that’s not entirely true. Way up the river, we saw a group of 5 guys catch 2 or 3 — what they were I don’t know, but I assume salmon, because I COULD see the flashy lures from where we stood. And there was a raft way down at the mouth of the river that appeared to be sight-fishing, as they would stand for a long time looking into the water and then make a short cast and catch one. Maybe they were snag fishing? 

Again. I have not one single clue. 

Since we were now way down at the mouth, we decided to follow a very well-trodden path that went around the point and back up to the boat launch fork.

Go figure. All of the bushwacking. All. Of. It. …Has been 100% unnecessary.

Defeated and exhausted — but surprisingly not at all unhappy — we got back to camp and put everything away so we could leave early the next morning. 

Given that it was 11 pm (and the sun hadn’t even set) when we went to bed, it probably wouldn’t be THAT early — especially since that the family with the GIANT RV, which had parked right next to us sometime during the day, didn’t even get back to the campground until midnight and then proceeded to make a roaring fire — I no longer know what is early and what is late anymore.

It rained all night.

And we are out of food.

And we didn’t know where we were going next. But we couldn’t stay in the site we were in for the next night because it was reserved… so we had to move anyway…

So we decided to take the camper and go have some breakfast, grocery shop, and talk to someone at an ACTUAL FLY SHOP and regroup. If we needed to, we could come back to that same campground and grab one of the first-come sites that were still open. Remember, it’s Friday now and we are basically in grand-central station for Alaskan tourism. Palmer, Alaska is just north of Anchorage and lots of people base out of it. Plus, we are learning the ins and outs of Alaska and it seems all the locals are on the big rivers trying to get their freezers full of salmon. So… I get kind of antsy about where we are going to stay. Definitely no dispersed options anywhere at all for probably the remainder of our trip. (But I’m not sure of that. Alaska keeps surprising me.)

Breakfast out at the Noisy Moose was… noisy. But good. I had to talk Dave into staying and waiting for a table because there were like 25 people jammed into the waiting area and that’s not his jam (haha). We passed a McDonald’s about a quarter mile back and neither of us is above a delicious egg McMuffin — and we definitely debated it — but I said let’s just give it ten minutes. And voila! We got a table. We ate WAY MORE than is reasonable and headed to the fly shop down the road in Wasilla.

The guy at this fly shop was…

AMAZING.

Yes, yes, we bought a shit-ton of stuff, so you could make the argument that he was really just a very skilled salesman/film-flam man, but even if he WAS that, he was a REALLY NICE flim-flam man.

NOW WE HAD THE TICKET TO RIDE!

Look out trout!

The only problem was…

He told us our only options to fish were…where… we had already fished. 

What??!!

“Willow Creek and Montana Creek. That’s it,” said A.J., the flim-fam man. They’re the best trout water this state has.

???

When we told him we already HAD fished Willow Creek and Montana Creek he said, “Well… What were you fishing with?”

And that’s how we ended up with all the new gear.

“Beads, man. That’s it. You need beads. It’s really not fly fishing. It sucks. But once you start catching the rainbows, you’ll get it. The good news is, it’s all cheap stuff.”

So, how we spent $249, I don’t understand, but does it really MATTER?

Now, we are gonna SLAY THEM!

But first, we need a place to camp. A.J. had told us of three different options, and having come from Talkeetna (which we were now going to be headed back towards) we knew it would be crowded. So we decided to systematically stop at each place and hope to find a spot. The first was Willow Creek State Recreation Area. This is basically a parking lot with picnic tables. And, as proof of just how far we have fallen, we backed into a spot on the end and paid our fee for the privilege. 

Our new gear required an hour of two building the rigs. 100% my wheelhouse. I could sit at that picnic table and build those rigs forEVER. Not Dave. But that’s ok, cuz I’m so fast I could make 4 to his 1. I get in the ZONE doing repetitive tasks. I absolutely love it. 

While I finished rigging the beads, Dave loaded us up and we headed to Willow Creek (again). But this time we knew to fish closer to the bigger river — less high and far up the road. Cuz “there’s nothing up there,” said A.J. But after our forays, we coulda told HIM that. 

Of course there were 3 or 4 other cars there. It’s basically a circus everywhere you can access the river. Our Colorado mentality of having to fish alone needs to be completely scrubbed. It’s still hard though, because as much as we want to fish alone, we also don’t want to screw anyone else’s fishing up by tromping past them in the water. Or feel like we are horning in on their water. Again. We need to get over that. Because we are CLEARLY the only ones worried about that. 

We are also learning from multiple people that these fish are not easily spooked or “line shy” so I guess you don’t have to worry about ruining an area like you do in Colorado, just by tromping through the water up the river? I’m not sure I believe that yet…

We wanted to fish the confluence of Desperation Creek (an apt name for a creek for us at this point) where it meets Willow River, but so did everyone else. We walked upstream hucking our new (heavy) rigs of a simple pink plastic bead above a hook with a heavy sinker and a giant gumball bobber upstream and letting it dead drift. We saw a LOT of sockeye salmon in the river for the first time which was REALLY cool. They are absolutely UNINTERESTED in our beads, which we already knew — but it was still interesting to witness. And all the googling in the world has not helped me to understand how you actually CATCH a Sockeye (Red) salmon (besides by snagging it). Anyway. We aren’t trying to catch them, but we are paying close attention to where they are in the river because the rainbows are supposed to school up behind them looking for tasty eggs to eat. 

We got some of those…

Much casting ensued with not a bite. 

The water is so big that it’s deceptive as to what is wadable and what is not, and, at some point Dave got ahead and across from me and I was unable to go further up without backtracking. You know how I hate backtracking… Besides, I was on attractive water… and I was, frankly, kind of sick of the whole futile effort… So I just stayed there. And, as I moved up a bit, I suddenly had a fish on! With, thankfully, no witnesses to my buffoonery as I tried to land it — easier said than done when you have 10-plus feet of line below the bobber (in fly fishing we call that an INDICATOR because we are fancy like that) so you can only reel the fish in so far — it’s still 10 feet away from you. And my arms weren’t long enough to net the rather large, very strong fish… Eventually, and miraculously, I did land it. And I even managed to get a picture. 

Subsequent casts had me hook three more in quick succession, but only one more made it to the net. The SCARIEST and UGLIEST fish ever!

I googled it to try to figure out what it was, but it was only at the parking spot where I asked a local guy who was at his car what it was and he said “That’s a king salmon. But it’s called a Jack.” I researched that and learned that it was mostly likely a King that had yet to go out to the ocean. They spend a year or two in the river after hatching before going out to sea where they get gigantic. Kings are pretty rare these days, so that was cool — but still ugly.

Dave, sadly, didn’t not get any. And he is NOT a happy camper. 

We were very tired. We don’t know WHY we are so tired, but we are. And it was late, so I pulled out my ace-in-the-hole for dinner.

Kraft Mac-N-Cheese, baby. Not one box but two. And I gotta say, it just might make it onto my top ten. It was delicious.

We FELL into bed. With dreams of trout biting our lines soon.

We ate some food and packed up with plans to continue over Hatcher pass, fishing here and there and then doing the Reed Lakes hike that the pilot told us about, near the end of the pass road.

We found the most AMAZING water to fish. 

No fish. No see fish. No catch fish. (Once again)

Not that we are great fishermen, but honestly, this feels a bit weird. We don’t know what to think.

As we crested the pass and came around the corner there were suddenly dozens and dozens of cars. People EVERYWHERE. It was crazy! Because until then, it was just sort of sparse. Normal to below normal traffic. It was jarring — and it had me instantly aware of the fact it was Thursday (the new Friday, post covid) and we still would need a campsite for the night…

Anyway.

It was noonish when we pulled into the trailhead, so we rooted around the fridge to find something to eat. And what do I find? The leftover hamburgers that Dave insisted I make with the meat he worried would go bad (*eyeroll*).

Given how awful they were the first time around, I planned to season the heck out of them to make them more palatable. I used the sad container of honey mustard we had dragged all the way from Glenwood Springs when we fished the Colorado River with Loren the day before we left on this trip. It looked battle-weary, but it was the ticket that allowed us to be able to get that hamburger down.

Fueled for the hike, we set out — not certain how far we would go because Dave continues to have trouble with his neck/shoulder. Walking seems to exacerbate it, sadly.

The hike was one of my favorites. To some degree, a hike is a hike is a hike. But this one kept me entertained. I truly didn’t even feel the 2000 foot elevation gain. I did feel it going DOWN though, that’s for sure. I’m thinking this might be the number one age-revealing indicator: when “going down” becomes worse than going up.

I remember, so clearly, my parents saying going down was harder than going up and thinking they were truly insane. Not wanting to sound like my parents, I try never to say it out loud. But I’m thinking it, man. I’m thinking it.

We did 90% of the hike. Dave’s neck was getting sore, so I booted it up another .5 miles to the falls by myself but stopped short of going to the end — the upper lake (isn’t a lake a lake a lake??). Then I ran (yes, you heard that right, I RAN) back, thinking that maybe if I ran one mile on a trail it might make up for the case of beer I’ve drank and the 20 out of 23 days I’ve not worked out.

Thoughts?

We were both pretty tired by the end. Because, you know, it’s HARDER going DOWN.

We picked some of the sourest blueberries you could ever hope to meet and skeedaddled to find a campsite.

Thankfully we had service, because the gigantic DeLorme Alaska atlas we bought for this trip sucks. It shows like 10% of the actual campgrounds. Google maps has been our best tool for finding campgrounds, but obviously that only works when we have service. (Which, thankfully, we did.)

However, it brought up a very tired subject that is now 5,600 miles long.

Dave: “Why don’t we have StarLink?” *

Jennie: “Because it’s too expensive. We don’t need it.”

Blah blah blah.

We start round number six of debating StarLink…. And, if I could go buy fricken StarLink in Anchorage, I would.

Score one for Dave.

It doesn’t help that L I T E R A L L Y every Tom, Dick, and Harry in the campgrounds has one. 

Anyway. I found a little State Recreation area that was just fine for the night and we used up the last of our food in the fridge. Pasta with Italian sausage and chopped cabbage, butter, lemon and Parmesan.

People. I KNOW you are cringing at that description, but I’m telling you: I’M ON TO SOMETHING WITH THIS CABBAGE THING.

For some strange reason, I didn’t sleep at all. Maybe it was the jet-skiers on the lake going full bore until midnight… Or maybe it was the people in the site next to us that pulled in at 1:57 am… But I don’t think so. Sometimes it just happens. 

And it stinks.

The weather held and the morning is beautiful! Looking good for our flightseeing tour of Denali at 11 am. We planned to take showers up at the registration building for $5 each, walked up there, but it was locked. We searched hard for a bathroom but could only find what I believe cannot possibly be the actual outhouses for this huge campground. I’ve spotted only three and each of them look like they would fall down if you pushed on the sides. Your foot would fall through the floor. The door is hanging open, askew — I doubt if it would close. I was going nowhere NEAR any of them. I remembered seeing an ACTUAL outhouse near the boat landing and headed that direction. 

We killed time until 9 when we hoped the building would open. It did. No pictures, but it wasn’t pretty. It DID, however have AMAZING water pressure. So I just closed my eyes and enjoyed it. 

I sucked 7% of noisy, generator-gained battery blow drying my hair and we were off to Zee Plane! Zee Plane! (Remember Fantasy Island?)

The flight was spectacular. Truly a treat. We had the best conditions possible. The plane circled Denali and eventually landed on a glacier and we got to get out and walk around. We plied the pilot with questions. We had heard it was a once-in-lifetime experience and it really was. Prepare for photo dump:

We planned to go to the Hatcher Pass area next. The road follows Willow Creek, reportedly one of the better trout streams in Alaska which also has great views and hikes. It’s an area that is very-much hyped in all the guide books. The pilot told us about his favorite hike there and generally agreed with all we had read, so that was good.

It was only a couple hours away. But it was lunchtime and we were going to going right by the MAIN Denali brewing facility where they do wood fire pizzas that are supposed to be really good.

We sat outside IN THE SUN, shared a mid-day beer (I am going to need to detox when I get home) and each had our own pizza (I am going to need to fast when I get home). It was DELIGHTFUL. We had cell service, made some check-in calls with friends and family… Verrra verrra nice. 

Hatcher Pass…

…Was an ATV Mecca. No offense to the ATV crowd. I mean… we are a Polaris family, after all! …But with all the rain in Alaska, the trails are pure mud. And in Alaska, the ATVS don’t seem to stick to the trails. The campsites are very tramped down. There is a lot of garbage left behind. It’s just kind of sad. 

We were very wishy-washy about where to camp: up high/alpine? Down low near creek…? We drove up. We walked a bit. We drove back down. We drove back up. Jennie was pushing back on Dave’s “Let’s keep driving and find something better” tendency — and only our KIDS will truly understand the veracity of this statement. Back and forth we went. We settled on going back to a spot we had seen — and didn’t love — so we could fish a few areas we liked on the creek. Then move to the higher up the following day. Moving every night is just not that of big deal with the pod

Willow Creek is GORGEOUS. We fished.

And we fished. And we fished. 

We didn’t SEE a fish. We didn’t CATCH a fish. There must be NO FISH.

We had delicious beer. We had delicious food.

I’m not sure what to call it, so I am calling it a Mexican Torte. A tortilla sandwich. Not a tostada, because it had a lid. Canned Chicken (much better than it sounds and the only way I bring chicken camping anymore. But I insist on the Kirkland brand. It’s better.) with Amy’s refried beans (again: these are the only ones I will eat) and melted cheese. Then a fresh salsa on top made with tomato, onion, pepper, lime and cilantro. 

Aside from my own cooking prowess, I am most proud of my ability to not have LEFTOVERS. I fear that I am starving my husband in the process. But still. 

Ok. This has to be documented. Back on Alaska 7 I posted a shot of us having the same hand in cribbage. IT HAPPENED AGAIN!

The only difference is: this time I won. Finally.