The Beginning.

Three weeks have passed since Nick and I made our way safely back into our little slice of (then seeming like) Heaven - pillows that knew us and sunshine to warm us (and leave us, finally). I let out a sigh of relief once we pulled in the driveway, almost like the whole, "We've made it this far, but there's still a chance something could happen" thing. Roughly 7,500 tickers were added to the Versa, with that number comparable to the hours of sleep lost during the month (or so it appeared).

I feel like ever since I woke up the next morning, reality - one that didn't consist of moose on the side of the road or rubber boots - quickly swept me off to a place where reflective time wasn't allotted. That is, until today.

I found myself faced with the question yet again, "So how was your trip?" and no reply has really been completely truthful, only because I haven't really known how to answer it. I hadn't had the time to formulate. I hadn't stared out the patio, across the sidewalk, into the world and back to myself to figure out just how the trip actually was. Sure, it was great - it was fun. I saw a lot. I learned a lot. Apparently I didn't eat enough. I lost a lot. I found a lot. And I gained a lot.

But that doesn't even justify what we experienced - what I experienced. I've always thought of myself as this traveler, this "free-spirited" person who gets whisked off on journeys, loses her footing, but in the end comes out with a great story. Funny thing is, though, is that I've never really done that. But here I am, back from a month long drivers-hell-of-an-excursion to the supposed "Last Frontier," and have nothing really to say about it. The communication major, no less.

Something tells me, though, that that's probably the best part entirely. I can say that it was a life altering trip, and that the cliche of no-words-to-describe really ring true. I probably won't be back, or if I do, it'll be years down the road.

But still, it's like my own little something I can claim.

It's my own little bit of warmth. It's my own little bit of mystery. It's my own little memory I won't forget.

I can share stories to the best of my ability, I can say I'm more in love than I've ever been, I can pull up sideshows, commentate, wear my baggy, unflattering Alaskan wardrobe every winter. But, again, it will never suffice, and that's just something I have to come to terms with.

Dad had mentioned before we left that I'd never be the same once I got back.

And he's right.

He also said that the only memories you'll hold onto in your life are the good ones.

And he's right.

Alaska was incredible - it wore us out, tore us up, froze us, thawed us, broke us. And we made it.

And I couldn't be happier.

P is for Petersburg.

Petersburg is definitely a small town – I’d even go as far as calling it a village. There are about ten stores on the main road, and boat after boat along the docks. We ate pretty much all of our meals at the Coastal Cold Storage, one of the three places who served food, and it was surprisingly good home fixin’s (once you got past the smell of fish that polluted the indoor area). We were abruptly woken up by ravens a few roof tops over, and got ready for the day we had ahead of us. Dad rented a boat, along with some poles, and we headed out into the (freezing) water with our scraps of fresh halibut, herring, sandwiches and dry roasted peanuts. After about 4 hours out, we had only caught two fish. When I say we, I mean I. When I say fish, turns out they weren’t Cod but rather Bullheads that can’t be used for much. And that’s the story on that. I had a great time – and I know both Dad and Nick did, too.

We went for a drive around the island later the afternoon, and that night for dinner the boys went to grab some Mexican food (which had Mexican rice, I can successfully report) while I inhaled a halibut sandwich on rosemary bread with some to-die-for fries. Our ferry the next day didn’t leave until after 12:30pm, so the morning was relaxing and filled with window-shopping and a final walk down the dock.

The ride back to Juneau took about 4 hours, which Dad said was pretty fast for a vehicle that size. The boat was fairly new – brought to life in 2003, and offered pristine views from each window. Once we docked, Nick and I were rushed to get our car checked in (as well as ourselves) to transfer onto a different ferry to take us down to Price Rupert in B.C. Dad and I walked to the terminal for him to use the courtesy phone for his hotel’s shuttle pick-up, and Nick moved the car in line to be loaded.

Dad said goodbye, and as soon as he walked away I finally felt this huge weight teeming with homesickness. We boarded the ship and watched the sun set (for the first time in a few weeks) over our last day in Alaska.

Juneau, Ju-neau?

Juneau, Juneau, Juneau!

After four hours on a 70’s themed ferry, we hopped off and realized we’d have to drive into town – originally we thought we could walk, however, 12 miles is a bit too far. We drove to our hotel, walked down the main strip for some lunch at a hipster café, and waited for Dad. He was able to get onto a flight, but wouldn’t arrive until after 9pm. To kill time, Nick and I went and saw Super 8 (phenomenal, I love [non-Disney] child actors) and then I got a text from Dad (I’m so proud of him!) saying he’d arrived. I jumped in the car and sped to meet him. It was an odd meeting, simply because on the one hand, it felt like I hadn’t been away from him at all (call it his easily provided comfort), and on the other, was this feeling that his presence made me realize just how far from home I’d actually been. We parked at the hotel, unloaded his backpack, and the three of us walked to find some dinner at 10 o’clock at night. We found out pretty quickly that things up north close rather early – usually by 7pm the stores lock their doors and turn off their neon lights dictating its state of openness. Dad spotted a little trailer that was still serving food, and the three of us sat on concrete stairs eating burgers and watching bar fights nearby.

Breakfast the next morning was at an ostensibly chic café right next door, whose black coffee was exquisite. Dad scheduled our day with a mine tour that was to leave around 9:30am followed by a drive up to Mendenhall Glacier, and conclusively finish with a family dinner. I get such a kick out of tour buses, and on our way up to the mine was no exception. You always get those weird smells and interesting people – ranging from the quiet, yet first ones off the bus types to those who speak off the cuff and over the tour guide – not to mention that one person who won’t put their window up. I laugh just thinking about it. With the under-aged and indifferent kids (who all took a liking to Dad) performing a monologue at each stop we made, the excursion was enjoyable, to say the least – we even went into the mine (which, we found out, stays at a consistent 36 degrees because of the type of rock it was). After we panned for gold (and semi-precious stones) along with feeding peanuts to chipmunks, we then took my car up to the glacier. I’m sure to all the residents in Alaska the glaciers are nothing more than cows to us back at home – they’re pretty much everywhere. But to us outsiders, they’re absolute wonders. Dinner that night was pleasurable, especially since we hadn’t seen our cousins in a long, long time (15 years, actually).

On a side note, it’s been great having both Nick and Dad here, and seeing them interact with individuals. The way their minds work – their quiet demeanors, and thoughtful inquisitions I find myself repeatedly studying.

After this long day, we have an early flight out to Petersburg tomorrow to see if it’s up to Dad’s expectations and desires for retirement (right, Mom?). I haven’t flown in a while, but I’ve never really held anything against the activity like some, so I’m actually looking forward to shuffle past first class and take my seat beside the window.

Haines - A Long, Yet Worthy Post.

We’ve had to break up the drive from Homer to Haines, simply because being in a car is making us go crazy. We stopped in Palmer for the first night, and stayed at another old hotel with a 24-hour diner (with incredible homemade cookies and cream ice cream!), bar and liquor store on the first floor (talk about convenience). With rickety stairs and hallways leading to our two twin bed room, we called it an early night, retreated to our cots, and watched some episodes of Family Guy and Seinfeld. I couldn’t wipe the smile off of my face – I have a great life, and a great partner to spend it with. The next morning we got some muffins for breakfast and coffee at a bakery just down the street (surprisingly it was all vegan and gluten-free – in small town Palmer).

From Palmer our destination was Beaver Creek in the Yukon. We had to cross the border yet again (Nick always gets nervous – somehow he’s always in the drivers seat, somehow…) and dared to face the tediously aggravating torn up roads. Huge pot holes and sectioned off miles of lose gravel have sadly victimized one of my hubcaps, and left a thick film of dust on the lower half of the vehicle. We kept reminding each other that this would be the last time we’d have to drive it – and once we were through it, we were through it. The final game for the Canucks was on the night we got in to Beaver Creek, and we got to watch the tail end of it with some locals (who were nonetheless a bit frustrated, eh) and eat really good burgers at Buckshot Betties, a hole in the wall eatery with only a few items to choose from, and majority of those consisted of beef and bread. Our hotel room didn’t have a TV - thankfully though, it seems like the farther we get into this trip, the earlier I’m ready to crawl into bed. So, the no-TV wasn’t really a problem for either of us.

A good-enough nights sleep (normally that consists of about 5 hours for our adventure) got us up and moving towards Haines, and having to cross the border yet again. The man working the station casually walked over to his little booth about thirty feet ahead of us and on the drivers side while we sat, waiting, at the red light that told us to stay put. He finally issued the green, allowing us to pull up and hand over our passports. I realized then, when looking around the immediate area, that these men working here obviously live here, too – just far enough to make driving to a bigger town to be too much, and just secluded enough to make someone, well, jaded. Especially since this was border patrol we were dealing with, the man leaned out the window to do the ‘ol pull-down-the-glasses-and-reveal-your-eyes move and continued to question Nick on our visit. Nearing the obvious end of inquiries, he decided to point out the dead, dried flowers I had in my front window. “You said ‘no’ when I asked you if you had any seeds or plants with you,” he stated while looking down on us, and continued with, “If you told me no about that, what else are you hiding?” Needless to say, he let us through after all the hassle, and we found ourselves in the beautiful town of Haines.

Nick and I both have agreed that this is probably our favorite part of the trip, or, at least, our favorite town we’ve seen. The place has so much history to offer. Fort Seward was a military base during WWI, and, unlike many of the cities in Alaska, it wasn’t one of your typical touristy, we-sell-every-item-with-Alaska-written-on-it area despite it being a cruise ship destination. The downtown area consists of roughly two square blocks of local art, espresso (The Rusty Compass was a neat coffee shop we found), bars (undoubtedly) and museums. Every settlement we’ve been to thus far, Nick’s been really good at pointing out the visitors bureau, or community center to grab a town map, or even flyers for nearby attractions (not like Thunder Mountain). Were staying in the old Commanding Officer’s Quarters that was converted into a makeshift hotel, seeping with years and years of history. The floors creak and the doors are all original (5 inches thick of solid lumber), and supposedly the place is haunted. At the front desk, the elderly receptionist beckoned to me a journal he held out with a somewhat sinister look about him. I opened it up to find entry after entry that previous guests had inscribed their encounters with the twilight zone: TV’s mysteriously turning off, loud talking in the hallways, lights floating about the room. Writing this now it seems humorous, but after reading the tales of “tortured souls” and what not, I slept with my eyes shut real tight. Real, real tight.

The next day we went on a hike – an almost 3-hour, uphill with a 283,409,824,098% incline drag to the top of a mountain peak. I think I said a total of 4 words the whole way up, simply because I couldn’t breathe (I’ll say it was the altitude, not my lack of fitness). It was neat, though. Since the southeast is considered a temporal rainforest, underneath a canopy of tall trees grew huge plants that looked to belong on Jurassic Park. We crossed natural streams, which, of course, brought natural mosquitoes. The density of the forest was incredible, and, just like looking up at massive mountains or out at sea, you feel small again – put in your place. The way back down wasn’t as bad and I was able to communicate things like, “I’m starving,” “I can’t feel my legs,” and “I’ve been devastated by mosquitoes” – a definite discursive improvement from the climb up. Once we made it down, we headed towards one of the few restaurants and to give Mexican food in the north one more shot. Just a day earlier in Haines, we walked past another Mexican spot and Nick decided to get a burrito - the tortilla wrapped around canned pinto beans and some sticky white rice. At that moment we felt very far away from home. When we got our post-hike fuel brought to us, we let out a sigh of relief – some of the best salsa Nick’s ever had (he said). After being full of food, a nap seemed fitting (which is something we do a lot).

We went to dinner at our hotel that night, and boarded the ferry this morning around 8am, headed to Juneau and then on to Petersburg a couple days later. I’ve been talking to dad – his flight was delayed (something about a computer malfunction) and he’s stuck in the airport until (hopefully only) 2:30pm. They’re not sure if the plane has room for more passengers, and if not his flight will just be cancelled. I’m on the offense waiting to see if I need to find another flight for him while in limbo – he’s getting here one way or another.

We've Made It Home-r.

Driving onto and through the Kenai Peninsula took a long time to get through – only because we kept stopping to take pictures, hike to glaciers, and take more pictures. It was incredibly scenic – almost like British Columbia was, but had its own Alaskan-like qualities I’m beginning to recognize. The mountains come right up to the waters edge, leaving little way for a road to wind in and around the abruptly protruding passes. Once we got around the final bend Homer came into view – and both Nick and I let out an, “Oh my gosh,” or two. It was by far the most indescribable place we’ve been to on this trip. We drove down Pioneer (the main street) in an attempt to find our hostel we had planned on staying at – since it wasn’t coming up on the GPS. Nick pulled up a page online from my phone looking to find directions, but instead happened to stumble upon some reviews. At one mention of bed bugs, we opted to take our money elsewhere, and find a cheap hotel in the area. We found an aged inn in old town, and got to stay in a room with both bunk beds and a double. I had to tell Nick the story of how my mom wouldn’t ever let me sleep on the top bunk because I slept walk. Now, all we really have to worry about is me talking – which, apparently, I’ve done a couple times so far (I mentioned something like, “Oh, that’s right – Winnipeg.”). I can’t help but laugh at poor Nick – I’m not sure the last time he got a good nights sleep.

When we were settled, we headed out to the spit – a long strip of land that stretched ten miles out into the waters, with small tourist-focused stores, seafood stands, the infamous Salty Dawg and low-and-behold, two ice cream parlors that seemed to do pretty well, regardless of the chilly day we were experiencing. We shared some fresh local halibut and crab cakes (HUGE chunks of meat, mmm) along with fries (the theme of our excursion) and despite the sun still high in the sky, called it a night.

We were able to go to a thrift store while there, and Nick went on a walk, and on our final night ate at the Olive Pit – some of the best food we’ve had to date. Nick’s Frommers book deemed it “Mediterranean,” but it was Italian to us. He got a meaty pizza, and I chose the artichoke, mushroom, pesto and ricotta laden calzone. They had a glass of Pinot Noir listed at $6.75, and I couldn’t pass it up. It was from California, and was pretty darn good for being cheap AND a PN – I felt like I found some hidden gem of a restaurant, but come to find out it’s pretty popular, and rightfully so. Full and content, we slept pretty well in our next hotel on the edge of town (and on the edge of the peninsula). It was hard leaving Homer, because it meant we were back to a schedule – we had to be in Haines by the 17^th to hop on the ferry, and it was roughly 15 hours away. We’re pretty tired of driving to say the least, but once we get to Haines that means no cars needed for 5 days! Plus, Dad’s coming – I can’t wait.

Goodbye, Denali - Hello, Anchorage.

After a somewhat difficult time the National Park brought (physically, that is), we (my I-somehow-saw-your-hand-pitifully-trying-to-keep-the-door-open-and-only-a-foot-above-the-ground hero and I) trekked a few hours west to the largest city the state has to offer. We had plans the first night we were there to go to an Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zero’s show (I know, right?) at some pub in the Fresno-sized town. It turns out it was an actual theater, with both a balcony and a standing room floor with a conveniently located beer and wine bar in the corner. A band came on prior to the eclectic and trancelike influencing group, and after the first song we both looked at each other, and Nick made a comment along the lines of, “They must be a local band.” True enough, they were voted the Anchorage Daily News Band of the Month for June. Sitting here trying to recall their performance, I can vaguely hear the repeated (on every song, no less [it signaled the end of each tune]) teen-rock screech, a lot of aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh’s. Nick and I had a lot of fun – regardless of the slowly increasing temperature upstairs and the middle-aged men and women grooving to the modern day melodies.

The next day, we awoke from our incredibly hospitable boutique hotel with the receptionist Douglas giving us a list of local hot spots for a decent combination of food, atmosphere and authenticity. It’s been nice, now, since we’ve been able to have a full day to relax and not have a driving schedule blocked out for 8 hours to keep. We did a walking tour of the town, which Douglas had a good laugh out, that led us through the main square, seeking out random sculptures and giant planets. We went to dinner at a fancy restaurant, and, for the first time being here, felt like I didn’t belong. It’s like that sensitivity when you’re at a pool party and the only one without a suit, yet this time consisted of greetings not returned and two orders of burgers weren’t worth a water refill. I know that this is rare here, and can confidently hypothesize that the larger the population, the more room and desire (from some) to feel the need to reside above others.

There wasn’t too much to do in Anchorage, but far more than Fairbanks (and far less mosquitoes). Our next destination is Homer – a place I’ve been dying to see for a long, long time.

More photos!!

Dall Sheep and Grizzlies!!!!






This is us at our turn around stop in Denali, Toklat River. It was cold and windy!!




Here's the tent cabin we stayed in for a couple of nights at Mountain Morning Hostel, about 6 miles from the entrance of Denali National Park.