Chapter One

San Francisco to Anchorage, Alaska

And so it began! I arrived in San Francisco to stay in the delightfully cosmopolitan mission district with my good friend Rebecca Bruns who I had not seen for many years. We had many interesting conversations together, mostly to do with travel. Rebecca was successfully writing and contributing many travel and leisure stories to various magazines around the U.S.and provided much valuable knowledge for my proposed journey. Yet, being aware that the Alaskan summer was quite short and that it was already mid-summer in North America, I felt an urgent need to buy a campervan quickly and after searching through the first newspaper, I found and bought a 1969 VW campervan which I hoped would take me where I wanted to go. Therefore after an oil change, a tune up and new tyres I felt ready to depart for my longed for adventure. I thanked Rebecca for her pleasant hospitality, our many stimulating discussions and said farewell to this fine lady, not knowing that I would never see her again.

The very next day after some pleasant Independence Day celebrations I crossed the Golden Gate Bridge which signified the commencement of this wonderful and enriching journey that was to mark a significant change in my life, with fantastic experiences and achievements providing the impetus to write about them and to motivate other people to undertake similar adventures! The first overnight stop was at the giant Redwood Forests of northern California. I went on my first hike into this awe-inspiring forest, along moss-covered trails and gazed with sheer amazement at the impressive size and height of these magnificent trees. Many other enormous broken down trunks of fallen trees dotted the forest floor, each rotting slowly away and in the process forming ecological microcosms of nature with little animals and insects scurrying for cover under fallen leaves and broken twigs, etc. as small birds hover overhead searching for prey.

Heading up the scenically beautiful Oregon coastline I noticed many attractive whitewashed lighthouses situated precariously on rocky bluffs, overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Along the way I stopped and walked along some of the delightful beaches where the Pacific Ocean waves crashed noisily ashore. Several recreational vehicles were parked along these beaches, with many Americans enjoying the fishing and other pleasant leisure activities.

At the mouth of the mighty Columbia River, near Astoria, I visited Fort Clapton. This historical fort was constructed in 1805 and served as winter headquarters for Lewis and Clark during their exploratory expedition 1803-1806 to the Pacific Ocean.

I wanted this journey to be a rugged experience and therefore camped out wherever possible far away from the hustle and bustle of the city. I found some truly magnificent campsites in Canada and Alaska, where nature in its bounteous beauty was everywhere, with forests, both evergreen and deciduous surrounding clear-water lakes and clean running rivers, with majestic mountains showing off glorious peaks as slow-moving glaciers glided worn courses inexorably towards the sea. Often at night, whilst camped alongside a running stream, somewhere deep in a forest glade, with a blazing campfire providing ample light and warmth, I listened to the evening noises of the wilderness. A sense of calm harmony with nature comes from being in such a tranquil and peaceful setting.

However, sometimes I also needed to visit cities and towns and to renew my acquaintance with the human species as well as to maintain contact with reality. I visited Seattle and Vancouver, both located on scenic estuaries with snow-covered mountains in the distance. Personally I wasn't too interested in spending a great deal of time in northern American cities other than wandering around their historical areas. I preferred to spend more time in natural surroundings which had impressed me so much about this continent. Most cities everywhere, unfortunately, have become huge centres spreading out continuously from those historical areas, with enormous buildings of concrete and glass taking over from the many historical buildings that have been destroyed in the process. It's called progress! My journey was not about progress but about the appreciation for the continent's unique history, culture and spectacular nature.

After camping along the edge of the broad Fraser River I drove to an old gold mining town, Barkersville. This little pioneer town located in the Cariboo Mountains has become a popular tourist attraction. In 1868 gold was discovered along some of the creek beds of these mountains necessitating, the need for a service town and a wagon road to the Fraser River, where the gold was trans-shipped onto awaiting boats for onward transport to Vancouver. Today the little town demonstrates life during a gold rush in the last century. I wandered around this little town in the rain remaining quite dry whilst wearing my Australian akubra hat and driz-a-bone overcoat and was unconcerned as I walked the muddy streets. In fact the rain enhanced the experience because it drove the tourists inside the saloons and merchants' shops. On the boardwalks, under the verandahs of the saloons and other wooden buildings, men and women dressed in period costume, went about their activities, fitting well into the picture. The pungent smell of freshly dropped manure still steaming, from horse-drawn coaches driven around the mud-soaked streets added further to the atmosphere.

I travelled further north along the Trans-Alaskan Highway. This highway was built by US Forces in 1942, to bring weapons and supplies for the defence of Alaska during World War II. As I drove along, great sections of it were being asphalted along its entire length which will facilitate the drive to Alaska for future travellers. I passed small trading posts and towns such as Fort St. John and Fort Nelson. Due to heavy rainfall two sections of road were washed away by land slides, necessitating the need for all travellers to stay in Fort Nelson for some days. This quite frequent occurrence in the northern wilderness requires that men work day and night on huge earthmoving equipment to clear away rock and rubble for the immediate construction of temporary bridges over rivers where bridges have been washed away.

While all traffic was stopped at Fort Nelson I met up with two Americans also travelling in an old VW. They had three kayaks on their rooftop and had therefore planned to do some kayaking on some of the many northern arctic rivers. We spent some days together while waiting for the road to be repaired and when the traffic was allowed to continue we became separated in the ensuing mayhem. I continued on alone!

Near Watson Lake I came across my first moose in the wilderness. I watched it appreciatively as I wandered along a boardwalk that led to the magnificent Laird Hot Springs. These tranquillising waters were located in what seemed to be a swampy morass surrounded by lush dense forest. I spent several hours at the springs, enjoying the soothing qualities of the hot water as well as talking to the locals about hunting animals in this cold and wild arctic region. After feeling completely relaxed, having enjoyed the comforting waters of these natural hot springs, I drove onwards through torrential rain which reduced my visibility significantly along these wet, slippery and very muddy roads, finally reaching Whitehorse at dusk.

Whitehorse is the capital of the Yukon Territories and is located on the Yukon River. It became an important town due to the Klondike goldrush of the early 1900s which opened up Alaska and the Yukon Territories to settlers. Goldminers crossed the White Mountains from Skagway and continued their journey to the goldfields situated near Dawson City, also located on the Yukon River. Dozens of wood-burning paddlesteamers docked along the wharves of Whitehorse during its heyday, transporting prospectors, merchants, con-men, whores and many others to Dawson City. Many forests were cut down to provide wood to keep the hungry boilers running. In winter, the sternwheelers would all be laid up as the river froze completely over during this period. The surrounding countryside became a carpet of thick snow as temperatures reached below -50° Centigrade. The largest sternwheeler built, "Klondike" has been beautifully restored and is located at the river's edge in Whitehorse and attracts many visitors. A good show worth looking at is at the little theatre which re-enacts the 'roaring nineties' period. Attractive can-can girls dance rhythmically, swinging their long legs high up in the air with combined gracefulness and sensuality. Several funny comedy sketches relating to the time are also amusing. Recitals of poetry from the poet, Robert Service, are recounted, depicting life in the Yukon territories in the uncharitable climate of this huge region.

From Whitehorse I continued further along the highway passing the Kluane Mountains visible in the distance and crossed the border into Alaska. At a service station just across the border I encountered the American VW travellers who I had met earlier at Fort Nelson. They had located a river which they planned to kayak and invited me to go along. I had canoed and rafted several rivers during my stay in North America but kayaking was a more arduous challenge. Open to any adventure, however, I was game to try! We intended to go down a river in the vicinity of Fairbanks called the Chatanika River and camp overnight. We packed the kayaks and set off for an incredible experience. At about 11 o'clock at night, with dusk light, we set off. The first bend in the narrow river provided an interesting challenge even to these experienced kayakers. While watching spawning salmon at the bottom of the stream, one of the guys rolled over in the kayak but using the 'reverse' technique he righted himself quite easily! I had not learnt this manoeuvre however and it wasn't too long before I rolled over in my kayak and under the ice cold water. Quickly my two new friends came to the rescue and righted the kayak as I gasped many breaths of fresh air. Naturally, I was completely soaked through and realised, therefore, that after this particularly hair-raising experience, I had better extricate myself sensibly from what could turn out to be a perilous challenge. I told them to carry on without me. I decided, instead, to return the kayak back through the dense forest to the road and carry it back to the van. Normally I have an excellent sense of direction but the time was approaching midnight and the thickly wooded forest was infested with biting mosquitos which played havoc with my senses. I felt like the Spanish explorer, Francisco Pizzaro hacking his way through the Amazon jungles on his conquest of South America. In fact, I had to backtrack again, through the forest, to the river with the kayak, ditch it, and go back along the river to find the van. I then drove to a point where the road met the river and found my rescuers who had set up a campsite with a roaring fire at the edge of the river. We decided to abandon the trip for that evening. After all, it was about one o'clock in the morning by this time. We dried our clothes and the sleeping bags near the fire while two of us retrieved the kayak that I had left by the river. The following day, unperturbed by the previous evening's experience, and after a hearty breakfast, we continued our kayaking adventure with no more serious mishaps. When we completed our kayaking trip we bathed in some exhilarating hot springs not far from Fairbanks.

This exercise was one of many unexpected and nerve-tingling experiences that I had during the journey. We continued together a while longer, driving to the entrance of Denali National Park where it was necessary to leave our vans at the entrance carpark as private vehicles were not permitted to drive into the park. This is to allow wild animals free range of their own territories. Buses, however, with ecologically minded drivers, take people further into the park along a gravel road. They stop, where anybody wanting to hike out into the wilderness is free to do so, as long as they are registered at the park rangers office before setting out, so that in the case of a problem, rescue workers have a rough idea where they may be located if things go wrong. It is wild territory up there in the arctic north and many people may not be accustomed to the sometimes vicious and unabating storms that may come in suddenly, bearing down with ice cold winds and freezing temperatures. Besides, this is territory where wild animals roam freely. You are in their natural habitat and must therefore accept the consequences if you do the wrong thing by them. Many people, however, are aware of the dangers and are sufficiently prepared. They hike into the mountain range at their own risk and have a thoroughly enjoyable time doing so. We chose to hike to Wonder Lake and camp out in the wilderness, from where we could have a splendid view of Mount McKinley, which, at 6194 metres (20,370 feet) is the highest mountain in North America. In the park, the bus driver stopped several times, allowing his eager passengers to watch the wild bear, moose, and caribou which are found here in great numbers. They feed on arctic grasses to regain strength and energy for the approaching winter. These nourishing grasses covered the U-shaped, glacial valley floors whose backdrop were the spectacular, unspoilt, snow-covered peaks of the Alaska Range. On two occasions we spotted a female grizzly bear with its cubs foraging for berries, while nearby were small herds of Caribou grazing on fresh lichens, their huge antlers in full splendour. A beaver was observed repairing walls of a dam that it had built and a fox was seen carrying a squirrel in its mouth to feed its young. After completing this magnificent hike into Denali National Park we drove through more magnificent scenery of mountains, forests and lakes before arriving at Anchorage.

    Back to Table of Contents