An Arctic summer! Bears, bald eagles and having a whale of a time in sunny Alaska
To many minds, Alaska is wild, remote and impossibly cold.
True, for most of the eight long, dark months of the year, when dog sledging and the Northern Lights are the main reasons to visit.
But summer in America's largest - and only Arctic - state heralds a season of energy and adventure; of hiking, fishing, whale-watching, moose and bear-spotting, and some of the world's most scenically spectacular rail trips.
This year, the journey to
Alaska from the UK has been slashed to ten hours, with a new hop over
the Pole from Reykjavik connecting with several UK airports. I arrive in
Anchorage, the main city hunched between the snow-veined shoulders of
the Chugach Mountains, which rise sharply from the fingers of Cook
Inlet.
My hotel overlooks Lake Hood. There is a sense of awakening as people tinker with the float planes moored on the thawed water. With great swathes of Alaska unreachable by road year-round (you can't even drive between Anchorage and Juneau, the state capital), small planes are treated like buses and about one in 50 people has a pilot's licence.
Still, my first glimpses of 'the real Alaska' - which to Alaskans seems to mean anywhere beyond Anchorage - are from the train south to the ice-free port of Seward. With mountains and glaciers on all sides, and nothing but wild beyond, the track undulates along the shore of Turnagain Arm, the fjord named in frustration by Captain Cook in 1778 while searching for the Northwest Passage.
With its sensational setting at the
heart of the Kenai Mountains and the head of Resurrection Bay, Sewards's
harbour is the gateway to wildlife cruises in Kenai Fjords National
Park.
However, the vagaries of nature are the price for all this beauty, and the view from the deck of Alalik Voyager is of a ghostly seascape suddenly swirling with mist. 'A pair of sea otters swimming on their backs at 10 o'clock,' sings skipper Kerry from the bridge. Then 'bald eagle at three o'clock' and '...a huge herd of Steller sea lions on the rocks at nine o'clock'. Good thing we can all tell the time, especially when 'blow at one o'clock' announces the surfacing of a humpback whale with the girth of a Boeing.
More startling encounters awaited in Denali National Park. Another ride on the railroad took me inland to this vast tract of wilderness, which is bigger than Wales. The park is home to Mount McKinley (aka Denali, meaning 'the great one' in the native Athabascan language), the highest peak in North America. At 20,320 feet it dwarfs surrounding mountains and has its own weather system leaving it frequently shrouded in cloud.
'Denali does not come to you, you have
to go out and find Denali,' says park ranger Kris Fister as we set off
to hike the Savage River Loop. She let off the occasional warning cry of
'hooee . . . yo-yo-yo!' explaining: 'I have been a ranger here for 11
years and believe me, the last thing you want to do is surprise a bear.'
No bears. But we do chance on a huge moose cow moving slowly through cottonwood and alder, and some powerful caribou bulls bending their antlers to drink. On one side of the trail is the rattling river, milky and bluish on account of its glacial origins; on the other, steep mountainside with arc-horned wild Dall sheep perched on rocky ledges. We pause at a glade next to a long beaver dam at the edge of Horseshoe Lake.
From here we have a clear view up to sparkling glacial peaks. Kris points out to me some of the famous fangs, which I will skim on my glacier-landing flight the next day. Short of a week-long mountaineering expedition, the only way to get up there is by plane.
True, for most of the eight long, dark months of the year, when dog sledging and the Northern Lights are the main reasons to visit.
But summer in America's largest - and only Arctic - state heralds a season of energy and adventure; of hiking, fishing, whale-watching, moose and bear-spotting, and some of the world's most scenically spectacular rail trips.
Great outdoors: Alaska is famed for its wide
open space and Denali National Park certainly offers plenty of
opportunities for solitude
My hotel overlooks Lake Hood. There is a sense of awakening as people tinker with the float planes moored on the thawed water. With great swathes of Alaska unreachable by road year-round (you can't even drive between Anchorage and Juneau, the state capital), small planes are treated like buses and about one in 50 people has a pilot's licence.
Still, my first glimpses of 'the real Alaska' - which to Alaskans seems to mean anywhere beyond Anchorage - are from the train south to the ice-free port of Seward. With mountains and glaciers on all sides, and nothing but wild beyond, the track undulates along the shore of Turnagain Arm, the fjord named in frustration by Captain Cook in 1778 while searching for the Northwest Passage.
Chill out: Laid-back sea otters float in the waters and there are even chances to spot humpback whales and sea lions
However, the vagaries of nature are the price for all this beauty, and the view from the deck of Alalik Voyager is of a ghostly seascape suddenly swirling with mist. 'A pair of sea otters swimming on their backs at 10 o'clock,' sings skipper Kerry from the bridge. Then 'bald eagle at three o'clock' and '...a huge herd of Steller sea lions on the rocks at nine o'clock'. Good thing we can all tell the time, especially when 'blow at one o'clock' announces the surfacing of a humpback whale with the girth of a Boeing.
More startling encounters awaited in Denali National Park. Another ride on the railroad took me inland to this vast tract of wilderness, which is bigger than Wales. The park is home to Mount McKinley (aka Denali, meaning 'the great one' in the native Athabascan language), the highest peak in North America. At 20,320 feet it dwarfs surrounding mountains and has its own weather system leaving it frequently shrouded in cloud.
Meet the locals: It's not unusual to see huge moose when you hike through Denali National Park
No bears. But we do chance on a huge moose cow moving slowly through cottonwood and alder, and some powerful caribou bulls bending their antlers to drink. On one side of the trail is the rattling river, milky and bluish on account of its glacial origins; on the other, steep mountainside with arc-horned wild Dall sheep perched on rocky ledges. We pause at a glade next to a long beaver dam at the edge of Horseshoe Lake.
From here we have a clear view up to sparkling glacial peaks. Kris points out to me some of the famous fangs, which I will skim on my glacier-landing flight the next day. Short of a week-long mountaineering expedition, the only way to get up there is by plane.
Take to the skies: Seaplanes are used like buses by the locals in Alaska
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