Homer: The Odyssey

Before I get started I have to say thanks for all the nice comments! And now, time for some quick geography. The world renowned Kenai Peninsula is the piece of land south of Anchorage between the Cook Inlet and Prince William Sound (which for some reason is not labeled on this map). I recently took a trip to Homer, Alaska, which is that little red dot on the western side of the Kenai near the bottom. It's 225 road miles away, 125 as the raven flies.


Now that you have a larger view for context, here's a closeup. As you can see, I live at the end of the Cook Inlet, and Homer is down at the beginning of the Inlet where it comes in from the Pacific Ocean. As you drive south, the Seward Highway continues on to Seward on the eastern tip of the Kenai, or splits into the Sterling highway at Tern Lake, cuts west, and runs down the Inlet to Homer on the western tip of the Kenai. All of the following pictures (except the first one) were taken between Clam Gulch and Homer (both of which are marked on the map).


At Tern Lake you must choose between the highway to Seward and Homer, and trust me you cannot go wrong either way. Of course, if you need some time to decide, the pull-off isn't the worst place to stop and ponder your next move:


Alaska has 60% of the functioning wetland ecosystems in the United States, and birds from around the world come here annually to utilize them, believe it or not from as far away as Antarctica. In fact 40% of Alaska is classified as either water or wetland, which comes as no surprise to me as there is water EVERYWHERE up here, and much of the time if you venture off of an established trail you better have boots on.

One of the nice things about living in a vacation-spot rich place is that not only can you do all of things the tourists around the globe dream of, you can do them at will, with no research or planning necessary. You can just go, and see what happens, and if you realize you could have done something differently, you can have as many do-overs as you want. Sweet! And because you don't have to do research, you get the pure joy of being surprised by what you see, instead of saying "Wow, there's that thing I've seen a dozen pictures of, and now I'm seeing it in person." The latter is still good, of course, but not as good.

Unfortunately, the trip down to Homer is pretty uneventful and there isn't much to see. At least there were some wildflowers along the way to help the hours and miles pass by. I think those are lupines, but I could easily be wrong (and am open to suggestion).


Oh. What's that you say? You'd like to know more about that water and the big mountain on the horizon. Hmmmm. Did I just say there's not much to see on the trip down to Homer? Upon further review, it's a SPECTACULAR TRIP!!! In fact, there's not a square inch of the Kenai that isn't spectacular.

The mountain out there is actually the 10,000 foot-plus Redoubt Volcano, part of a series of volcanoes in the area that are part of the "Pacific Ring of Fire." You can see four volcanoes along this stretch of the Cook Inlet, but as I'm sure you'll realize by the end of this post Redoubt is my favorite. Hold on a sec, is that a beach down there?


Indeed!


Wow - sandy beaches along the Cook Inlet - who knew? This is at Clam Gulch, aptly named judging by the groups down at the beach with their shovels.


Up in Anchorage, when you look out across the water there is always land on the other side. This far down the Inlet, when you look south you are gazing into the ocean beyond. Ahhhhh...open water.

The terrain on this side of the Kenai features very lush vegetation, and has a very pastoral, country-style feel. It's really peaceful. There are many ranches with horses:

And the natural ground cover is very, I'd say, succulent.

The above and below picture are of Iliamna Volcano, just south of and slightly taller than Redoubt. Quite a view and quite exciting, especially when you had no idea what to expect going in.

Homer is a beautiful place, and quite a small town really (just over 5000 residents in town and another 8000 outside the city limits). I could see living there if it came up. The houses I saw were on actual land, not so close to the next house you could just as easily pass the salt to your neighbor as to your dinner guest, as seems to be the modern trend. Down there you can really smell the sea air, and the tide pools feature starfish, anemones and other ocean creatures (if you are there at low tide, which I was not). Homer is on Kachemak Bay, has views of the nearby Kenai Mountains, and Kachemak Bay State Park on the other side of the bay can be reached by water taxi (it's on the list of to-do's for next time).

Homer is the "Halibut Fishing Capital of the World." Note the banner imploring you not to forget your $10 Homer Jackpot Halibut Derby ticket. They tag various halibut with prize tags up to $10,000, and if you catch one with a tag from the current year you win. (There are still fish out there with expired tags from previous years - tagged fish from 2003 and 2006 were caught this spring off the coast of Oregon). You win, that is, IF you bought a derby ticket. Some poor schlub from Wisconsin went out, believe it or not, on a charter vessel call the "Jackpot" last week, and caught a halibut with a $10,000 tag. But he didn't know you had to buy the $10 ticket! D'OH!!! (C'mon - I had to use that just once in a blog about Homer, right?) I guess the check is "the one that got away" this time.

On another note, good to know:

The folks in Homer and other fishing towns aren't too happy about the US Supreme Court reducing the punitive damages in the Exxon Valdez case (19 years after the oil spill) from $2.5 billion to $500K:

But how can you stay angry when you live in a place like this? Out in the water you can see the "Homer Spit", a 4.5 mile strip of land jutting out into the water. Before 1964 it was much wider and higher, and featured grassy meadows, wildflowers, and a stand of spruce trees. Then the earth shook more violently than at any time in recorded North American history, and, like many places, the bottom literally dropped out and it sank 6 feet, the sea reclaiming much of the land.

Now it's all sand/gravel with very little vegetation, and I'd say not very inviting (although I apparently did manage to capture one little strip of grass by the road in this picture - if you had asked I'd have said I remember none). There are several "campgrounds" out there, tucked in between tourist traps and fishing charter kiosks, but you're pretty much just on exposed gravel, with absolutely no cover. Not my cup of tea - I camped in Anchor Point, 15 miles north, which we'll get to in a minute. But here's the Spit:

And the beach along the western side.

I really enjoyed driving around town, down Kachemak Bay on East End Road and up on Skyline Drive (the aerial view of the Spit above was taken from Skyline).

For some reason I really liked this weather vane on East End Road:

Here's a view of Kachemak Bay from Skyline. Hey, is that a glacier out there?

Yep! I believe that's Grewingk Glacier. Interesting tidbit - like most glaciers it's been receding for quite some time, and in 1967 it caused a massive landslide because it had undercut the mountainside and left nothing in the void as it receded - the landslide was large enough to fill 11 million dump trucks!

As you know we've been having some weather issues, like many parts of the country, but the first few days of July were awesome - like it SHOULD BE this time of year! I was worried about clouds rolling in at any moment, but for a couple days anyway the only clouds were those nice, wispy clouds.

Ah yes, that's more like it. As I said I camped at Anchor Point. This isn't my tent (I was on the other side of the drive), but the campground is right at the edge of the beach, and looks a little better than a gravel spit, no?

I started to walk out on the beach just to take a quick look before I set my tent up and didn't have my camera out, and was bummed when a bald eagle flew right overhead and I had no camera. Then I realized at least a dozen eagles nest right there, and are constantly out on the beach. Seems funny to me to see bald eagles out standing among tide-deposited kelp or soaring over ocean surf. I know it's normal, I've just never seen eagles on a beach before.

When camping you always have to have a campfire, right? Burn burn burn burn!!! Enlarge if you don't know what that is and you'll see - I know at least a few of you know exactly what that is, and are smiling. Most expensive firewood ever.

Man, I have to say there was some spectacular scenery on that trip, more than you can ever really relate in a pic or two. But I think the most unforgettable thing will be the sunset on Anchor Point, over Redoubt Volcano. For the record, the first of the following pictures (which may be enlarged by clicking on them) was taken at 9:54 p.m.; the last at 12:06 a.m. You know how sometimes you can just tell a wicked sunset is on it's way?

I know it, the beachcomber in the middle of the above picture knows it, even the shorebirds below, a couple tussling with one another, know it.

And the extra bonus is that with our extremely long days, the sun sets darn near sideways, so you're in for a lonnnnngggggggg sunset.

Getting there:

The fishermen know what's coming.

The bald eagles too:

Oh my, it's getting good.

I couldn't whittle the pictures down any further, so you'll just have to trudge through a few different views/wave positions, etc.

If you don't mind...

It couldn't get any better than that, right?

Right?

Wave out, wave in:

Believe it or not, I was the only one on the beach. You ever just shake your head in amazement with your jaw hanging open?

When the purple overtakes the orange, the July night enjoys a fleeting victory. Without reservation, the most unbelievable sunset I've ever seen.

Goodnight sun.

Little Buddy

My lease is up at my old apartment this weekend, so I decided to switch things up. I was over there doing all the annoying little cleaning things you have to do to try to wrestle your security deposit back, and saw a mamma moose with her new calf - which can't be more than 2 months old (they are usually born around May). Man, they grow up fast! Unfortunately, as you can see, they are on opposite sides of the fence, and for HOURS little man was pacing back and forth, calling out to his momma, and trying to figure out how to get around that darn fence. I'm headed back over there today, and I hope he's not still out there pacing around! [Edit: He made it out.]

Poor little buddy! Don't you just want to pet him? Of course if you did, he'd probably kick the tar out of you! Somebody brought their dog out there and that little moose went right toward that dog when he saw it - even as little ones, they don't mess around!

Now Is The Summer of Our (MIld) Discontent.

If you're wondering where your sun is after your late evening summer dinner, don't worry, we're keeping a watchful eye on it. Now are the days of 24-hour light, where the sun only skims below the horizon for a few hours then pops back up (below dipping into the cool waters of the Cook Inlet a few weeks back).

Unfortunately, the discontent around town, nay the state, is centered around our unseasonably cloudy/cool weather. You may recall (and if not you can just scroll down) that last June, as is normally the fashion, was very sunny and warm. But this June I'd say we've had maybe four or five days of what could be qualified as glorious Alaskan summer weather, and there is much wailing and gnashing of teeth from the locals! As you may know, we have VERY short summers, and we need some gettin' while the gettin' is good. The two feet of snow in one day in April really blew things up and set back spring a week or two, and summer hasn't gotten out of the starting gate. PRAY for July!!! For believe it or not, the winds start to change by mid-August.

But when, as a wise man once said, "the gettin' is good", you better get out there! Following is a hodgepodge of trips over the last couple weeks. Even with the sketchy weather I've managed to get in 5 nights of camping all around Southcentral Alaska and the Kenai. Yeah, that's right homey...I live in Southcentral.

Below is the Hope Highway, which splits off from the Seward Highway down on the Kenai Peninsula, and goes along the other side of the now famous Turnagain Arm on the Kenai side. I like dirt roads, gravel roads, two-lane highways...but the best road of all?

Open road.

Not surprisingly, the Hope Highway ends in a little town...called Hope. (Guess where the Seward Highway, which starts in Anchorage, ends?) But I'd venture a guess the residents of this Hope haven't cast too many votes for any Clintons - in fact Alaska has voted for exactly one Democratic Presidential candidate since statehood - LBJ.

The Seaview Cafe in Hope is kind of a landmark (opened in 1896 - a remnant of the Alaskan Gold Rush) and I regret not eating there, as I was there at exactly lunchtime and instead opted for a sandwich out of my cooler. I was on the way back from camping for the first time this year and had a little "Essence of Campfire" cologne going on and thought I would spare the other patrons. But upon further reflection, the ONLY business this place would get would be campers, hikers, and off-road-vehicle enthusiasts so I'm sure it's "come as you are".

Of course, even outdoor activities are coming at more of a premium these days:

YEEEEEEE-OUCH!!! That's in Cantwell, AK - on the way to Denali NP and points north (and two weeks ago - I'm sure it's MUCH higher now). It's the most expensive gas I've personally seen, but I promise you it's even higher out the Bush. Right here in Anchorage it was $4.09 three weeks ago, and is now $4.39. Ummmmmmm - can anyone explain that to me? Until this recent oil debacle we had about the same price as St. Louis, which to my knowledge is now 40-50 cents less per gallon? And we PRODUCE oil up here!!! Come on!!!

But, there nothing you can do about it, so what does it matter? What can I do? Not sightsee? Not hike? Not camp? Why don't I just move to Kansas?

Up at Byer Lake in Denali STATE Park (which is huge and absolutely gorgeous, and adjacent to but completely distinct from Denali National Park) I got to try out my new MSR Whisperlite backpacking stove. AWESOME!!! It's just a tiny little single-burner stove that runs off a white gas fuel canister, and it gets the job done! I must say, like most backpacking stoves, it doesn't "simmer" so well, but I made one of those little box o' pasta dishes which go for 10 minutes, and I just held the pot a bit above the flame for the last 4 minutes, and it turned out brilliant.

I also took a trip out to Lake Louise (the Alaska one, not the Banff one), which was quite nice. When I got there it was sunny, then a thunderstorm rolled in, including hail, and I sat in the back of my truck under the protection of the tailgate for nearly an hour and a half. As long as you're under cover, sitting out in the rain is actually quite nice - especially with a brat on the grill and an ice cold beer. Kind of reminded me of sitting out on my grandparents covered back porch in the rain back Cincinnati as a kid - and getting a sip of Poppy's beer (my grandfather).

But later on the rain moved out, and things got ultra-peaceful. One of the great things about Lake Louise is it is 17 miles off the highway - leading to PURE SILENCE from unnatural sources at night. As I sat enjoying the already brightening skies well after midnight in anticipation of the 4-something a.m. dawn, the only sound was that of the birds around the lake. The military had a retreat there prior to statehood, and Eisenhower himself stayed there in 1947. He was slated to stay only one night, but spent four, because, as one of his aides noted in his journal, it was too peaceful to pass up, with only the sound of the loon carrying across the lake. 60 years later...damn right.

As mentioned, I got gas in Cantwell on the road to Denali NP, but instead of going to Denali I did a loop over the Denali Highway running from Cantwell to Paxson (Denali was, like many places, suffering the ills of a late spring - including the unexpected closure of the major Teklanika Campground due to inches of ice covering the campground and all structures) . The Denali highway is mentioned in my original roadtrip blog as a wonderful place stumbled upon during my trip here in 2006 - a 135 mile highway, 120 of which is not paved. It was originally the only road to Denali NP when the park opened, but now is an kind of a secret gem.

Oh, and speaking of peace? How 'bout the Denali Highway? I maybe passed a dozen cars in the 4+ hours I was out there. And I pulled over several times and shut off the car to enjoy the pure silence, which as you know is VERY hard to find in the modern world. Even up here a lot of the time when you go out to travel around on our few roads, you're often not very far from that road without having access to an ATV or floatplane. The Denali Highway - talk about wide open spaces...and open road.

The western half of the Denali Highway was green, but the eastern half, toward what we call the "Interior"...not so much. The below is at MacLaren summit, the second highest road in Alaska at 4086 feet. Can you believe that? 4086? The highest road is at Atigun Pass up on the Dalton, at 4739 feet. Picture the second highest road at 4086, with the tallest North American peak not far off. Then again, Denali, at 20,320 feet, has a larger "vertical relief" than Everest because while the base of Everest sits at 17,000 feet (with a peak of about 29,000 feet), the base of Denali is at a scant 2000 feet. You do the math (seriously, because those who can do math go to med school - I went to law school).

And along the way, this rotund little fellow popped out to take a look. Click to enlarge, and check out those beady little eyes, and major claws. I'm logging this as a beaver, as the Denali Highway is a land o' lakes, and it is definitely not a porcupine (and to my knowledge the only other option is a hoary marmot, affectionately known by some as "monkey krugle"). If you have further identification information, please share.

Did I mention on the eastern half of the Denali Highway it is not exactly spring?

If you still don't believe we're having a funky summer, how 'bout a picture from my trip here in the first week of August 2006:

As compared to a picture from a different angle of the exact same spot from the second week of June 2008 (note the brownish mountain in the foreground to get your bearings):

I'm not sure how the wildlife up there makes it when things are so late - there was even still a layer of ice on many of the lakes. I guess a lot of the wilflife doesn't make it.

On a completely separate note, I also hiked up a local mountain called Flat Top on one of the handful of sunny days, which was nice but also completely kicked my butt. Can you guess why it's called Flat Top?

It had its top sheared off by a glacier long ago, and doesn't really look that far up. All in all it's 1300 feet of elevation gain in 1.5 miles one-way.

After hitting the first of two "saddles", it doesn't look that much farther, but then again there's a dude standing up there below the arrow, and when you can barely see the dude, you still have a long way to go! The actual trail is that little brown stripe in the snow at the bottom right - and there shouldn't be snow there at this point in the year, as there was at four points on the trail:

On the first part of the way up, life is good, as are the views. I have hiked many times in that nice green valley below:

As anyone who hikes over rough terrain knows, the trek down is less huff-n-puff, but is still hard on the knees & quads. You could always go the "glissade" route and slide down like these nutjobs, but I wouldn't!

When you get passed the second "saddle", it gets a little rocky. Well, to be honest, it couldn't be more rocky if Burgess Meredith was at the peak yelling down at you that Flat Top is a wreckin' machine, and you can't win, Rock!!!

For "scale", there are at least 6 people visible in the above picture.

But seriously, it looks kind of imposing, right? If you scroll back up to the "Can you guess why it's called Flat Top" picture, this is between the big snow field at the right and the little snow stripe in the middle. I'll admit it's a little scary, especially going up the first time because you're trying to pick the best/safest route but can't really see very far above you. It's steep enough that you need to get a secure hold with both your feet and hands. Next time I think I'll be a little less nervous about falling (which people do).

The top of Flat Top was much bigger than I thought, and quite spectacular! Here is just one of the 360 degree views, with an orange-shirt clad fellow hiker on the point for scale:

It's a workout getting up there, and you need to exercise "extreme caution" as the sign at the top said. But it's well worth it for the views. Wouldn't you agree?