hiking the Williwaw Nature Trail

We purchased bear spray the day we got off the cruise ship. We knew we’d be doing a lot of hiking on our own–no more excursion guides to fend off the bears for us. I thought the locals would laugh at us. They’re all so into the outdoors here. Proof of residency in Alaska must be either an active hunting or fishing license, or a doctor’s note declaring you are a certified adrenaline junkie. They ride mountain bikes down black diamond ski slopes here in summer!!!

Before I left home, a friend told me that Alaskans recommend wearing jingle bells on your backpack to scare away the bears. I laughed. Jingle bells? Really? It sounded to me more like a sure-fire way to identify tourists.

When we asked the salesperson at REI in Anchorage about the necessity of bear spray, his mouth turned up a bit at the corners. He hemmed and hawed and never did give us a definitive answer, leaving us to debate amongst ourselves whether we should spend $50 for something we’d probably never use and cannot take home with us on the plane.

Well, we went for it, and we’ve carried it with us on every hike, but we’ve always felt a little like we’re wearing those jingle bells. Until we got to Girdwood. Along with our Airbnb host’s welcome note at check-in was a can of bear spray and a flyer about being “Bear Aware.” Through the front window of our apartment we have watched her neighbors walking their dogs; everyone wears a can of bear spray on his or her belt. There have been bears in the neighborhood. Our host told us that last week she found herself inadvertently positioned between a mama bear on the ground and her three cubs up in a tree–the acknowledged worst-case bear scenario.

I let Marcus carry the bear spray, afraid I would freeze on the spot should we come across a bear in the wild. I’ve taken to calling him “Bearspray,” as in “Wait up, Bearspray, don’t get too far ahead of me!”

Bearspray

our home away from home – well, the first floor was anyway

We spent a week in the town of Girdwood in the downstairs apartment of a lovely family.

Originally called Glacier City, the town was once located directly on Turnagain Arm, the extension of Cook Inlet south of Anchorage. Back in the day, residents made their living by supplying goods and services to the gold miners who established claims along the creeks running into Turnagain Arm.

During the 1964 earthquake, Glacier City sank ten feet below sea level and the town was exposed to frequent flooding. Most of the residents moved to a new townsite a few miles inland and renamed the town Girdwood. You can still see the “ghost forest,” a stand of trees killed by saltwater flooding, at the old townsite on the Arm.

Sue, our guard dog and bear alarm

Another generous Airbnb host sharing the local bounty – this time king (Chinook) salmon.

a whale skull – a neighbor’s front-yard decor

Girdwood survived the earthquake and relocation, thanks in part to a local ski lodge at the foot of Mount Alyeska. The lodge blossomed into the Alyeska Resort, known for its challenging ski slopes and luxury hotel. It’s the most popular ski resort in Alaska. In summer there are great hiking and fishing opportunities in the surrounding Chugach Mountains, and more people are opting to live here year round.

Alyeska Resort

We traveled about 12 miles south of Girdwood to the Portage Valley, carved out by the Portage Glacier. The glacier has receded back and around a corner, so you can only see it via a boat tour on Portage Lake, but there are many other glaciers to see and hike to in the valley. We spent the day totally surrounded by the Chugach Mountains and glaciers. Spectacular!

Explorer Glacier

We hiked to the snowfields of Byron Glacier.

I ran into an old childhood friend here in Alaska. It was so good to see him after all these years. Lots of fond memories with this guy. He’s looking good, don’t you think?

Remember: Only you can prevent forest fires!

Mount Alyeska

August 18: It rained all day here in Girdwood, at the base of Mount Alyeska, but the top of the mountain got its first snow of the season. It looks beautiful. Winter is coming!

Trailhead for the Otterbahn

Sea otters are plentiful in Seldovia. In fact, we were greeted by an amorous couple on arrival in the boat basin. So when looking for a name for the one hiking trail in the area (I still want to say, “on the island”), I suppose that it was inevitable that someone would come up with the name Otterbahn. We hiked it to Outside Beach and back into town.

the bog

arriving at Outside Beach

Outside Beach

view of Mount Iliamna in the Aleutian Range

Trena Creek

Trena Lake

Cute!

We spent two nights in Seldovia. What a cute little village! Love their old Boardwalk area–the original Russian fishing village. The big earthquake in 1964 (9.2 on the Richter scale!) took down most of it, but there’s still enough left to give the village its quaintness.

Seldovia welcome by polar bear!

Chainsaw carving is big here.

the Russian Orthodox church

shed with fireweed

the Boardwalk

Seldovia Village Tribe

Eagle on bank watching dinner. Seagull on bank hoping for leftovers.

bear sighting

Homer Spit boat basin, aboard the ferry

Beautiful weather on our 45-minute ferry ride to the old Russian fishing village of Seldovia, across Kachemak Bay from Homer. While technically not an island, Seldovia has no roads leading to it from the rest of the Kenai Peninsula. The only way to get there is by boat or plane. Population: approximately 300. Should be quiet, peaceful, and relaxing!

Sea otter lunching on crab in Homer boat basin. Sea gull hopeful for leftovers.

the Kenai Mountains in Kachemak Bay State Park

close up of the Kenais

sun came out over the Kenais

Aleutian Range volcanoes

Mount Redoubt volcano

Seldovia Bay

Camel Rock

Seldovia boat harbor

Mount Iliamna volcano

in port at Seldovia

We were the only people sitting out on the patio of Homer Brewing Company enjoying the uncharacteristically sunny day and a locally crafted brew. A man in a van held together more by rust than sheet metal pulled in to the parking lot, grabbed a growler of beer and a stainless-steel cup from the passenger seat, and walked to a nearby picnic table. His greasy wool fedora was pulled down over long, thinning grey hair, and the seat of his jeans sagged as if they fit much better 20 pounds ago. Although he grudgingly responded to Marcus’s greeting as he approached, he sat with his back to us, so we didn’t engage in further conversation.

About 20 minutes later, a spectacled man in pressed jeans, a tweed jacket, and a sporty wool cap, looking very much like a community college professor, approached him and shook his hand. “Did you bring the stuff?” The scruffier dude nodded his head and went to his van. He returned with two cases held together by duct tape. The Professor opened one and peered inside. A smile crossed his face. He reached in and gingerly pulled out a guitar. The Dude, making note of the Professor’s delight, pulled a mandolin out of the second case. The hand-cut leather strap was so worn multiple holes had been cut as previous ones had given way. “That one has seen some living,” the Professor commented. “I bought it new in the ’60s,” said the Dude, his hand stroking the neck. “I had to take out a loan to buy it.” They started tuning.

As if choreographed, vans, pickup trucks, and the occasional car started pulling into the parking lot. Out came tote bags full of tablecloths, jars of homemade pickles, boxes of crackers, and neatly sliced wedges of cheese. People bought beer from the brewery and trays of fresh Kachemak Bay oysters from a little shack at the far end of the patio. More musicians arrived: guitars, a bass fiddle, banjo, harmonica, and a microphone and amp. By now the Professor and the Dude were strumming away and singing in harmony. “Do you know San Antonio Rose?” asked the Dude. In reply, the Professor strummed a few chords. The Dude joined in, and the rest followed suit.

Just another Thursday afternoon in Homer!

brewery decor–pallet planter

Our Airbnb host in Homer offered us some sockeye salmon he caught a few weeks ago. It was frozen immediately after the catch, and was the best salmon I’ve ever eaten. Marcus grilled it outside and made a delicious meal in the little kitchen of our adorable apartment.

Note to self: Always travel with your own chef. Thank you, Marcus! <3

Delicious!

Rounding a bend in the road, our first view of Kachemak Bay.

Tom Bodett (you may recall his voice in the Motel 6 ads: “We’ll leave the light on for you.”) has always been a favorite storyteller of ours. We used to listen to his books on tape in the car when the kids were little. He started by writing essays about life in Homer, The End of the Road, back in the ’80s as a way to add some interest to his radio program on KBBI in Homer. They became so popular locally that they were picked up by National Public Radio’s All Things Considered. Then a Boston publisher offered him a book deal, and his essays expanded into fictional accounts of the residents of a town called The End of the Road, Alaska. You can still hear Tom on the NPR program Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me. The sound of his voice is always a comfort. It takes me back to those wonderful characters he wrote about–everyday people dealing with everyday problems in a not-so-everyday part of the world. They were so wholesome, genuine, and decent you wanted to pack your bags and move to The End of the Road.

view of Homer Spit extending 4.5 miles out into the bay

the Spit’s boat basin

at the End of the Road

Well, here we are at The End of the Road. When driving south from Anchorage to the beautiful Kenai Peninsula, you can drive (relatively) directly to Seward on Alaska’s southern coast. And if your wandering spirit pulls you farther west (and a bit farther south), you can take the Sterling Highway off of the Seward Highway through the heart of the Kenai to Homer, on the southwestern tip of the peninsula. But you’re still not at The End of the Road until you drive out the Spit, a string of a road off of the Sterling Highway that extends 4.5 miles out into Kachemak Bay. And then, when you reach the end of the Spit and you are virtually surrounded by water on all sides, you are finally at The End of the Road. As Tom Bodett says, “…this would be as far away as you could get without a good boat and a passport.”

our cute little abode in Homer

not our cute little abode, fortunately–in Old Town Homer

Homer humor