North to Alaska Part 3 - Heong (Oct 2002)

Part 3 – in which Heong leads his party astray twice, is eaten alive and becomes a pop star.

The next stop on our grand tour was Seward, where we took a cruise on the Kenai Fjord to look at humpback whales. They strutted their stuff for our cameras, one of them flipping over almost close enough to touch. Its tail certainly splashed us – perhaps it was trying to tell us something. We also saw otters, seals and bald eagles, and then had salmon bake on the island for lunch. On the way back, the skipper pointed out Marathon Mountain (3,000 feet) famous for its annual race. The record stood at around forty-three minutes, but to accomplish that the runners had to slide down most of the way on their bottoms on the sixty degree scree slopes after running up the footpath on the other flank. We decided to have a look first before committing ourselves to the bum slide, so with that in mind, I wore my double-layered reinforced trousers for the ascent next day. The walk up was fairly straightforward (no, I didn’t run), but after inspecting the scree slope, we decided to save our bottoms for another day – they would be put to good use on Sheep Mountain a few days later.

We went on to do some ice climbing in Rangell-St Elias, a remote glaciated area with high mountains. The two guides provided us with plastic boots, crampons, harnesses and ice tools, and set up the ropes. None of us had any previous experience of technical ice climbing, but we picked it up very quickly. The guides were so impressed that they put a rope up an overhang wall to test us. Now we not only had to hack our way up, we also had to avoid losing our grip on the ice, or we’d be left swinging like a pendulum. None of us got to the top, once the arms went the result was inevitable. But it was fun trying to claw back onto the ice wall while swinging from the rope, though all we managed to do was chips bits of ice off with our axes. For lunch on the glacier, the guides produced salami, pepperoni, beef jerky, Snickers and ‘gorp’ – good old raisins and peanuts – plus M&Ms – yum, yum. Our sandwiches didn’t stand a chance.

By the time we’d had enough of the ice, our arms were aching so we refuelled with giant pizzas in McCarthy, the only village in the area. Supplies had to be flown in because the only road was just a rocky track, yet the prices were cheaper than in London – $12 for extra large which is equivalent to British extra, extra large. How do they manage it?

For out last hiking adventure, we crossed the border into Canada, to arrive at Kluane NP, a green and luscious area with lakes as well as mountains. Here we had the opportunity to climb Sheep Mountain (1,920m – back to metric now being Canada) and our last chance to spot Doll sheep, the last ‘must see’ on our checklist of exotica. Naturally we wanted to take the most difficult route up, via the ridge, but the ranger tried to dissuade us. She only relented when we assured her that we were experienced hiker and showed her we had navigation equipment like compass and GPS – but no map. She kindly lent us a 1:10,000 map of the area, but made us promises to return it in one piece. The only excuse she would except for loosing it was bear attack. We found out later that she wasn’t joking.

The path from the lakeside was clear enough, but disappeared on the rocks where we indulged in some messy scrambling. The weather was warm and sunny, so we hadn’t bothered to look at the map, but suddenly we found ourselves on a knife-edge ridge with sheer drops on either side. I was beginning to suspect that we were on the wrong ridge, as the ranger never mentioned the exposure or the need to scramble. As I was the one holding the map, I thought it prudent not to bring up the subject, but continued confidently to lead the other up to the scree slope that took us to the top. From there I could see the ridge we should have taken – an altogether broader, easier affair: too boring for the likes of us, as I told the others. Somehow I had the feeling that they weren’t totally convinced by my explanation. The views were stunning in the crystal-clear air; the lake a glistening turquoise, bisected by the road causeway; and snow-capped mountains in the distance. Not for the first time, I wondered why North America had such clear air on hot summer days, whereas in Britain there would be a slight haze to spoil the views. And we were all alone on the mountain – no noisy school parties or hoards of walkers as there would have been on any big British Hill and such a fine day. While lunching, I took out my GPS and tried to confirm out position on the map. It confirmed for me how lucky we are in Britain to have the OS grid system: trying to determine a co-ordinate in hours, minutes and seconds on a map is a nightmare.

As we walked further along the broad summit ridge, we saw some white spots on the adjacent hillside. Whipping out our binoculars, we saw that they were Doll sheep with their distinctive spiral horns. At last out list was complete. After watching them for a few minutes, we suddenly remembered the ranger’s warning about the bears, but despite scanning all the likely areas, we couldn’t see any. Still we chatted and sang at the top of our voices as we started our descent. As was my wont, I confidently led everyone astray, missing the start of the descent route, the Sheep Creek Trail. Instead we went bum sliding down a steep scree slope. A vicious swarm of mozzies had been lying (or flying) in wait there, and by the time I reached the bottom of the slope I looked like I had contracted measles. I counted over fifty bites on one forearm, and I’d even been bitten through my t-shirt, though (thankfully) not through my trousers – the windproof nylon is apparently bite-resistant, whereas Coolmax polyester isn’t. the others only suffered a few bites, though we’d all used the same 100% DEET lotion. Then I realised why – I’d applied sun block on top, whereas the others had applied the DEET last.

We relaxed on the easy path until we reached the bottom. A memorial plaque there took us aback – it was ‘dedicated to the memory of (female name), 1977-1999, who died after an encounter with a grizzly bear on this trail’. In sober mood we returned to out campsite, but after dinner a raucous game involving a lot of booze, table banging and calling each other names (which somebody made up on the spot) soon had us in good spirits. After all, we’d had a glorious day: in perfect weather, we’d climbed a new difficult route (inadvertently), saw some beautiful scenery, spotted Doll sheep, fed the mozzies, performed a scree run on our bottoms, had a scare and now got ourselves drunk (except one) while merrily insulting each other.

The last leg f our journey was to take the ferry from Skagway, AK to Bellington, WA via the Inside Passage. Pure relaxation for three days, we thought, until we found ourselves becoming the centre of attention in the ship’s bar. There was a decent piano and an electric guitar with microphone and amplification equipment. ‘Entertainment’ on the Malaspina consisted of morning lectures, afternoon videos and whale watching during the day, but in the evenings it was down to the passengers. After watching a few of the other passengers and the barman singing obscure country and western songs, our group took over. I presided over the piano for Bridge over troubled water and Imagine to accompany our singing, then Pete played the guitar for the Bob Dylan and John Denver songs, which the audience joined in. we decided to spare them the Sound of Music as children weren’t allowed in the bar, but I played them solo renditions of Mozart, Beethoven and Rachmaninov pieces, playing from (rusty) memory and improvising passages which I couldn’t remember. Fortunately the few people who knew the music and realised that something was awry were too polite to mention it. News of our antics reached the captain, who came to listen tom us. Afterwards, he told u that in his three ears as captain of the Malaspina, he’d never heard such lively music making. Our fame spread far and wide 9 throughout the ship, that is) which became a trifle embarrassing in the restaurant, as people looked at us and smiled when we went in. still, wasn’t there a famous quip by Noël Coward about everybody being entitled to ‘a minute of fame’?

All I all, a memorable trip during which we explored the Yukon and ‘The Last Frontier’ (as the Alaskans would have it) and found more than just vast expanses of untamed wilderness. Alaska is truly a walker’s paradise and we only explored a tiny part of it in four weeks.