Homer Bound

The next leg of our summer adventure took us south to the Kenai.  The Kenai Peninsula is one of the most dazzling parts of Alaska.  It is everything that people think of when they picture Alaska--crystalline teal rivers and crisp, icy mountains, towering spruce and dark ocean. 

 

How they do construction in rural Alaska--squeeze two lanes of oncoming traffic onto an unmarked 1.5 lane dirt road, tell them to go slow, and let the drivers figure it out.

It was a grey and drizzly day as we made our way around Turnagain Arm (which, for you history buffs, was named by Captain Bligh of HMS Bounty fame) and onto the Sterling Highway.  The Sterling was the location of the massive Swan Lake fire in 2019, and the scars of the fire are jarring.  Entire mountains are scorched.  Even so, the land isn't barren.  Between the sparse and blackened trees the ground was magenta with fireweed, one of the first plants to return after even the most horrific fire. It's a good reminder that trial and destruction can be transformative, if you're willing to shift perspective.

 

It is a stunning drive, with forests, mountains, rivers, and volcanoes.  Across the vast blue stretch of Cook Inlet lie the beginnings of the Aleutian Mountains, home to the majority of Alaska's active volcanoes.  Four are visible from the Sterling highway: Mt. Iliamna, Mt. Redoubt, Mt. Augustine, and Mt. Spurr.

I *think* this is Mt. Iliamna.

There are mostly tourist oriented towns along the highway, little more than a series of cabin-resorts and river-fishing charters.  There are a couple of lovely towns that have a distinct, small-town feel that is nicely balanced by modern conveniences--Soldotna and Kenai.  Rick picked up a set of chisels and a rubber mallet on a whim at a hardware store in Soldotna as his souvenir for the trip. Kenai is home to the oldest Russian Orthodox church on mainland Alaska, The Holy Assumption of the Virgin Mary Church, which was built in 1896.  (History refresher: we bought Alaska from Russia in 1867 for roughly 2 cents an acre, something at the time known as Seward's Folly but today is celebrated the last Monday in March in honor of William Seward, the U.S. Secretary of State who brokered the deal--which is a long way of explaining that there's more than a hint of old Russian flavor on the Kenai Peninsula.) Rick has a thing for churches, so naturally we drove the extra half-hour on the Kenai Spur Road to see the church--which was, unfortunately, under renovations when we stopped by.  This stop was also marked by the girls' fury that the town of Kenai had an Arby's despite being much smaller than Fairbanks.  It was a day of disappointments.

Luckily, we had a chance to try again at finding an Orthodox church, this time a little further down the road in Ninilchik.  The Transfiguration of Our Lord Church is a few years younger, but it's very picturesque.

This church dates back to 1901, and is still in use.  It is surrounded by a graveyard that includes a memorial for fallen soldiers.

 

The Ninilchik River.

The Sterling parallels Cook Inlet for a while.  Cook Inlet is named after Captain Cook (the very famous British Explorer who was one of the first Europeans to "discover" Tahiti, Australia, and the Hawaiian islands) who was looking for the Northwest Passage.  Anchor Point, the westernmost point on a North American highway, is named after a story that Captain Cook lost an anchor off shore of the future settlement.  Things like this are underappreciated, in my opinion.  There's something awesome about going to the oldest, the furthest, the remotest--places that most people don't ever go.

At the end of the road lies Homer, a cute, quirky town of about 6,000 people on the tip of the Kenai.  The architecture is a hybrid of New England and Alaskan Frontier, with turrets and shiplap side by side with square-front facades, clinging to the cliffs above Kachemak Bay.

We pulled in to our Air BnB, which happened to be just a few blocks from the beach.  It was a cute three-bedroom basement apartment with a full kitchen, two baths, and outstanding hosts, if you ever find yourself needing a place to stay in Homer--Wander Inn, on AirBnB.  You won't regret it.

Anyway, we unpacked, and after days of driving, we were ready to be out and about.  The one downside of this trip is that we did it in the time of Covid, so many of the tourist attractions were shut down.  I had particularly been looking forward to the Islands and Oceans Visitor Center, but that didn't work out.  We parked there anyway and ventured onto the trails that switchbacked through the marsh to the Bishop's Beach.  We met a local corgi, Pimento, who was out for a walk with his human, and read poems about estuaries and seabirds along the boardwalk. I also ran across the legacy of some outhouse activist.  Deep thoughts for someone defacing a public toilet.

 

 

...says the Anarchist whose A is neatly within the lines of the circle.

When we finally made it to the ocean, the girls were so excited.  They stopped complaining about the rain and danced over the stinking masses of bull kelp to pick up shells and dead crab shells.  The tide had just turned and was starting to come in.  It came in incredibly fast.  In the short hour or so we were there it easily crawled over a hundred feet onto the shore.  Kachemak Bay has extreme tides, varying up to thirty feet between high and low tides, and watching the water devour the sand I can believe it. There were chunks of coal washed onto the shore. People still collect and burn it as fuel.  In fact, one of the stories of the origin of its name is that Kachemak is an Aleut word for "smoky," referring to the haze from burning coal that would linger over the bay.  

 

 

A huge chunk of coal. It was everywhere, carried in on the tide.

 

Tide coming in.

 

Is it even vacation if the toddler isn't crying?

 

I built an inuksuk, one stone for each of us.  I loved the fireweed on the way to the beach, too.

After our grey beach walk, we abandoned the girls back at the rental for a nourishing and hearty dinner of cereal while Rick and I went out for an adult meal.  We ate at AJ's Old Town Steakhouse and Tavern. It was posher than I expected, but then they seated us and served our water in mason jars, and there were shelves of books available in the next room, a stage for live music, and a couple patrons in XtraTufs, and I knew that this was Alaskan casual dining at its finest. I had a steak and Rick had...um...well, I don't remember what he had because my sirloin was just that dang good.  The blackberry crème brule (also served in a tiny mason jar) was fantastic.  I would totally eat there again.

 

The next day we went to the Spit, a skinny four-mile piece of land that juts from mainland Homer into Kachemak Bay.  We parked by the public fishing cove and walked in.  There were many places that were closed, but still plenty of stilted shops and restaurants to liven up the boardwalk. Various food trucks--and one big red bus named Sue--offered a variety of delicious foods.  Homer is one of the halibut fishing destinations of Alaska, and outside of fishing charter services the catches were being weighed and displayed. Several of the store owners were out beachcombing for driftwood and other materials to make their products, which was pretty neat.  There were also a lot of campers.  One old lady was out flying a kite, and generously offered Echo a chance to fly it, too.

 

 

  

 

 

     

The beach was rocky and kind of cold, the wind snapping across the water.  The girls were touched by the Seafarer's Memorial, a tribute dedicated to those who were lost at sea. My favorite part was seeing the dozens of rock gardens, inuksuks and driftwood windbreaks.  There seems to be almost a primordial, human need to leave some kind of testimonial to our presence, a way of telling the world "I was here."

 

  

The Seafarer's Memorial.  There were various small offerings and tributes left at the feet of the statue.  Echo was uncharacteristically somber and insisted on leaving one of her shells.

   

  

Almost as interesting to me are the boats.  There is no one as creative (or potentially disgusting) as a person naming a boat.

Avalanche, Profishient, Whiplash, and Kryptonite.

Sea Master, Paycheck, and Scally Wag.

Midnight Hooker.

Defiance--which, according to a child who shall remain anonymous, is pronounced Da Fiancé.

After a dinner of frozen pizza, Rick and I took a walk on the beach.  It was gorgeous, with the sun setting behind the point.  I took off my shoes for the full experience.  Naturally, within minutes Rick pointed out the tiny anemones that were liberally sprinkled everywhere.  I was very careful where I placed my feet after that.  We also had the opportunity to see an eagle, who eyeballed us from less than fifteen feet away.  They are impressive birds.

 

Sunset on the beach.  I could get used to it.

  

Our eagle friend.  I wish I had gotten a close up of those talons.

The little sand sphincters are the lavender anemones curling into the sand.

The next day we got up bright and early.  Well, I got up bright and early.  I wanted to surprise the girls with breakfast, which was more difficult than I had thought it would be since a third of the local restaurants were closed.  Covid-19 strikes again! Mighty hunter that I am I finally secured a hot and delicious breakfast from Duncan House Diner.  After scarfing down what the girls proclaimed "the best pancakes ever, no, seriously, Mom, the best," we went tide-pooling at low-tide.

It was the coolest thing ever.

Claudia and Echo fell several times and Leah cut her hand catching herself on a well-barnacled rock, but we made it to the pools.  We scrambled over rocks slick with seaweed to see starfish that ranged from the size of my hand to the size of dinner plates, and translucent shrimp that flashed across the pools.  Massive green and red anemones flopped across the sand, looking like they were vomiting out their guts.  Smaller lavender anemones curled into the sand when poked.  Jellyfish were everywhere--little clear ones that fluttered in the water and massive tiger-striped ones that clumped on the rocks. Clams poked cautiously out of the sand.  Leah even found a decorator crab, hidden under clumps of algae it had cultivated on its carapace. The girls were in heaven, collecting shells and rocks and stroking the starfish.

  

A good perspective at how far out the tide was.  The water usually reached partway up the stones.

 

  

   

Tide pools and kelp.

 

Clams on the left, barnacles on the right.

Little anemones.

 

Look closely. The decorator crab is that clump of green in the middle.  So freakin' cool.

  

 

Starfish!

   

The girls dubbed these "Christmas anemones."

 

One of the challenges of having a large family is that it is often difficult (and expensive) to find a place to stay when you travel.  We really lucked out with our AirBNB.  There was enough space, it was private, the price was reasonable and we could all stay together for once.  There were other perks, too. The large window in the living room was always slick with slugs (promptly dubbed Big Bob, Hubert, Stevert, Slimella, and Baby). The girls delighted in watching them...for the most part.

Aeryn: *watching slugs* This is educational.  This is so much better than TV.

Leah: No. No it's not.

 

Slug-o-vision, coming soon to a window near you.

In all fairness, they were on detox. The one downside of the AirBnB was that there was no TV.  It was rougher on some of the minions than others.

We also took advantage of the sun peeking out to set up the tent, which had been dripping in the back of the van for three days.  It was still sopping when we pitched it.  Luckily, the sun stayed out long enough for it to dry.  The slugs loved it.  When we went to strike it, we were picking slugs left and right off the bottom of the tent and rainfly.  There were even a few unfortunate souls who made it back to Fairbanks with us. 

We attempted to drive to the Russian Orthodox village outside of Homer, but the steep hills and hairpin turns were a little much.  Bertha is large enough to have a whiplash effect on the last two rows of seats.  It was a lovely view of the multiple glaciers across the bay, but the girls were relieved when we turned back to Homer.

With extra time on our hands, we went to the Platt Museum.  I was surprised that it was open, but the docent welcomed us in with half an hour before closing.  He even waived the fee and gave the girls extra attention, pointing out the beaked whale skeleton and explaining comparative anatomy between the various skulls.  He was lovely.  The museum was small but interesting, focusing on local flora and fauna and the pioneer history of Homer, complete with pictures and furs and antique tools and clothes.  There was also an original cabin that had been relocated to the museum.  I was more than happy to slip a healthy donation into the jar as we waved goodbye.

The museum was nestled into a cut of forest that was combed with trails. It was insanely green and damp.  Everything was enormous.  Despite the warnings of a local bear, we spent a happy half hour wandering the woods.  The bugs were surprisingly minimal.  As we were crossing a creek we ran into a couple of locals just chilling in the shade with their dog, Butters.  We never saw the bear.  I can't say I'm upset about that.

 

 

 

I don't know why I like this picture, but I do.  So you're welcome.

After three great days in Homer, it was time to go home.  Originally we had planned to jump over to Seward for the Mermaid Festival, but it was ultimately canceled; instead, I decided that I wanted to drive Hatcher Pass.  Hatcher Pass is a back road from Palmer to Willow, widely considered one of the most picturesque drives in the state.

It really was.  The part that we drove was, anyway.  We snaked past a lovely river and up a twisty road to beautiful views of the Matanuska valley.  We made it all the way to Independence Mine, a former gold mine and historical heritage site.  Pumped, I turned onto the dirt road that marked the beginning of Hatcher Pass Road...

Oh my. Now, I'm an adventurous driver and I've been over all types of roads up here, and this was one of the few times I've been nervous. Bertha's tires scrabbled for purchase on the narrow, rutted road, and I tried not to think about the sheer drop off to the left as I crawled around the sharp blind corner.  I gave Bertha as much gas as I could without flooding the engine.  She was willing, but she rattled with the effort of climbing the steep hill with rear-wheel drive.  After three tight turns, I was grateful for the flat scenic pullout.  I took a deep breath as I checked over my trusty Milepost; there was another 30 miles of this.  I looked up at the massive mountain still ahead of us, back down at the quarter-mile we'd managed, and over at Rick.

"I don't think this is going to work."

He agreed.  We called it a mulligan and crept back down the hill. I was a little disappointed, but I would rather get home with a working car and a still-functional heart than a real adventure story.  I'll try it again sometime with a 4WD. 

 

 

 

Independence Mine, a remnant of a 1930s gold mine.

Rick had never been to Talkeetna, so we made a short detour on the way north.  Talkeetna is a lovely little hippie town 14 miles off the Parks Highway.  It's primarily a tourist town, specializing in fishing and flight tours of Denali, which dominates the horizon...when it's not covered with clouds, anyway.  It's also the confluence the Susitna, Talkeetna, and Chulitna Rivers.  What makes that interesting is that you can see where the rivers run into each other without mixing for a distance.  Of course the girls had to get in the water.  Other than a little mom-stress and a certain five-year-old almost taking a header into the fast and icy current, it went well.

 

 

The confluence is really clear in the second picture.

The original plan was to camp in Talkeetna, but after 6 days we were ready to be back in our own beds.  Frankly, trying to put small children to sleep in a tent is dreadful, so Rick didn't have to work too hard to convince me to keep driving.

 

Bridge over Hurricane Gulch.  You can't tell from the picture, but it's crazy high.

Healy and Cantwell.  Always breathtaking. 

We rolled in around 10 pm after 15 hours of driving.  The last week had kept us hustling; we knew that there was at least one day of Netflix and take-out in our future while we recovered, and another day of clean-up and laundry scheduled around pre-operation appointments and finals and the bustle of regular life.

Worth it.