Wheeling Feeling in North Pole, Alaska
Although clouds usually shroud the 20,000 foot high Mt. Denali, the highest mountain in North America, the month of May offers the best chances of sighting the peak. We know it’s back in there somewhere.
We camp overnight in Denali National Park to increase our time for chances of a view. In the frigid morning, we drive the park road as far as they allow private vehicles, and get lucky. Viola!
The vastness of this land makes a big grizzly bear look small.
Porcupines like to come out in the morning also.
Continuing north, we brave the cold rain and camp several days along the Chena River. It’s well worth it.
Where else can you wake and watch a beaver swim across a calm pond? I’ve never seen that kind of beaver close-up before.
Time to go to the town of North Pole, where Marilynn’s nephew, Dusty, a lieutenant firefighter, takes us four-wheeling. Somewhere outside of Fairbanks where the sun never sets this time of year, we meet friends and set up camp.
“I’m taking you to places most people will never get to see,” he says.
We rev up the Armageddon survival machines that take us over steep rocks, through mud, snow, and boreal forest, all the way to “Suicide Hill.”
We stop only to crack a cold one, or cut firewood for the bonfire back at camp.
After a long day of four-wheeling, we sit around the fire eating moose burgers, feeling rather wild.
“We have to get out as soon as possible to enjoy the short two-month season of summer,” Dusty explains. “After being cooped-up in the dark all damn winter, you have to take advantage of the sunlight.” Well, they have 24 hours of sunlight this time of year. Mare and I have no idea what time it is, or even what day.
He tells us that to keep sane during long, frigid, dark winters, folks have roving potlucks, game nights, and snowmobiling to keep active. It’s also necessary to have indoor hobbies. Like his welding hobby turned business, where he produces creative, designer artwork. Without such activities it’d be too easy to drink all the time.
Check out NorthStar Fabworks on Facebook or Instagram
Time for Marilynn and me to get a room at the Bear Lodge in Fairbanks for a much-needed cleanup. We’re due for some civilization as well. Hmm, we’re the only guests in this massive complex full of empty corridors. It feels like we’re in the movie “The Shining.” Then it gets really weird when I get a call the next morning from the manager.
“I’m calling because one of my employees told me that you said something that made her uncomfortable.”
“Geez,” I said. “I only talked to two people. The receptionist when we checked in and a security guard while I was outside waiting for Thai food delivery. What in the world could I have said that was uncomfortable?”
“She said that you asked her if she wanted to go pee with you.”
I’m speechless. Trying to think of what I could have said that could remotely resemble such a phrase. “I can’t imagine ever saying anything like that to any person in my life,” I respond. “What can I do about this?”
“Nothing. I’m just calling as a courtesy.”
What? Welcome to The Bear Lodge, I guess.
Time to leave civilization and go back into the wild, for some civilization. Let’s camp along the Denali highway, a 135-mile gravel road touted by Men’s Journal as one of America’s most thrilling roads.
National Geographic Traveler magazine lists it as number two in “roads that are pure fun to drive.”
They cleared this road for the season, opening only a few days ago. Sunshine, a full moon, and sweeping views reward us during our first day’s drive.
While scenic and remote, we wondered where the “thrill” was?
What a difference a day makes. When we wake in the morning dense fog covers our views, followed by snow and freezing rain. The road narrows and the ruts and pot holes in the gravel are accentuated as conditions deteriorate. Who knew that driving 135 miles could take so long? We’re in the middle of nowhere, off the cell phone grid, and have not seen another vehicle all day. It looks like we’re driving into a blizzard. Okay, no doubt a pretty “thrilling” ride.
Once back on paved roads, we follow the Alaskan Pipeline south, camping along the way.
This Pipeline runs for 800 miles, from Prudhoe Bay to the charming town of Valdez. In my opinion, the drive to Valdez on the Richardson Highway rates as spectacular and perhaps not long enough.
Waterfalls gush in full force from the tops of fjords.
Leaves begin to stretch out from green buds in the forest, and once the fog lifts we see a picture book town that reminds us of Haines.
Thank you, Abundant Universe!
Somehow this mayhem works. Few accidents occur and road rage does not appear to exist in this gentle culture. We already know from similar experience in Ho Chi Minh City that you must walk with a steady stride so that traffic can adjust to your pace, and flow around you like a school of fish. Of course, we’re lost. 
Wising up the following day, we take a tuk-tuk on a mission to walk along the Mekong River, where there’s a sidewalk. Slowly getting our legs back, but still delirious, we wonder if we’re getting too old for this type of travel. Nah, bring on the freaky food! On a walk back to the hotel, we do a reconnaissance mission seeking a restaurant that serves tarantula and red tree ants. Pure Cambodian country fare.
We get bad news from back home in the states, as my father is hospitalized with serious health problems. Not sure if we need to fly back now or later, we debate our future. Finally, we decide to play it by ear and not make any long-range plans. Another night of insomnia, surely caused by jet lag combined with worries. Either way, it is time for an afternoon beer on a street known for its nightlife.
Okay, a few beers later we visit “Romdeng” restaurant to dine on tarantula with black pepper lime sauce, and red tree ants with beef filet and spicy basil stir fry. The sauce dominates the ant dish, and we have no need to eat tarantula again! This restaurant is staffed by former street youths with teachers that present kids with career training. We’ll return to support this worthy cause but will skip the creepy crawlies next time.
Health news from back home gets better, so we book a minivan for a five-hour ride to the small beach community of Kep.
We sit in our assigned seats, when two other travelers approach with the same seat booking. Turns out that I booked this ride on internet without noticing that the next available opening was several days away! If we were in the US, we would simply be kicked off the bus. In Cambodia, the driver says, “Oh, problem.” He then removes some cargo, flips out a bench seat for two in the luggage area, and squeezes us in. Resolves problem. Love Cambodia. Never been so happy to sit on the bumpy bench in the back.
Kep. Wow! Laid back town with a small beach, surrounded by jungle covered hills and national parks. It has wide streets with sidewalks and an inviting waterfront where a person can sit with a cold beer and watch folks gather bamboo crab pots. 
A very welcome calm from city mayhem. We sit on the porch of our fabulous bungalow at “Atmaland,” and relax. As my father’s health slowly improves back home, we start to get our legs back. 
Kep, actually known for it’s crabs, lives up to the hype. The crab market has, well, crabs, everywhere, along with squid, octopus, fish, shrimp, sting ray on a stick, and other things we cannot identify.
These tiny blue crabs infused with Kampot pepper sauce demand a good bit of work for little payoff in meat. But then, we are spoiled as far as crab goes, from hanging in places like Oregon and Alaska. While the crab disappoints, the Kampot pepper sauce rocks.
Time for a shaded, mountain hike through a rainforest complete with monkeys and ocean vistas.
Our bungalow backs up to the Kep National Park. For only one dollar the Park’s five-mile loop trail makes for the perfect morning walk.
After four days of peaceful bliss, we’re hopping a minivan to the nearby town of Kampot. I got the booking date correct this time. Thank you, abundant universe!
This stretch of unfrozen water provides spawning ground for the final salmon run on the north American continent. That’s why an estimated 3,000 bald eagles converge here annually for a final feed every November, in Haines, Alaska.
Marilynn and I have volunteered as caretakers at the 
High-pitched screeches in the distance call for us to pick up the pace, and break free of the woods obstructing our view. Viola! There be eagles, hordes of them!
Some soar down to the river to snatch a swimming fish with their talons, while others line up along dead-end channels that trap Coho and Chum.
Many eagles perch in the trees to rest, or wait for an opportunity to steal another’s catch. Perhaps they conduct business in a language we cannot understand.
The eagles have arrived at their annual convention/feed. I’m not sure exactly how many have come. How can you count them all?
Outside of a few serious photographers, this week we have the place to ourselves. A handful of hearty humans shall arrive next week to enjoy this amazing event, and participate in the Bald Eagle Festival activities in Haines Borough for a final economic boon before winter.
We experience the gathering of eagles in one of the most pristine settings on planet earth. If anything, this phenomenon is under-hyped.
The cold wind blows down from glacial separated jagged mountains, and we seal the gaps in our clothing, looking forward to stoking up the wood burner back at the cabin.
Upon our return from Labrador, we backtrack to Gros Morne National Park, and catch the last campsite available on this busy Labor Day weekend.
Onward to the east coast of Newfoundland. Near the town of Twillingate, we camp in the rain at Dildo Run Provincial Park. From there we hike to Nanny’s hole. Some dirty minds are at work here. We must ask about this.
“You’re the first ones to ask me how we got the name,” the ranger jokes. “Dildos are the pegs around a ship’s steering wheel.” I didn’t want to ask about the nearby Nanny’s Hole or Cuckold trails. I read that Captain James Cook had a sense of humor back in 1763.
On the way to Butter Pot Provincial Park, we stop at England’s first colony in Canada. The town of Cupids boasts the gorgeous Burnt Head trail, (I’m not making this up), lined with billions of wild blueberries, upon which we walk and feast.
Instead of Cupids, it’s the nearby town of Brigus that grabs our hearts.
Full of historical significance and charm, (during WWI Rockwell Kent the American painter lived here, before being deported for suspicion of spying) we marvel at the waterfront and the Brigus Tunnel.
Constructed so that Arctic explorer Captain Robert Bartlett, the town’s most famous citizen, could easily access his ship, the tunnel was cut through rock in the 1860’s. 
Driving around this Province we notice huge and abundant piles of wood along the road. “What is with the wood?” we ask a local man.
He explains that each “NewfenLander” gets 10 cords free yearly, with permits for specific areas. Yes, they must chop, stack, and haul their own.
Back at the Butter Pot campground, moose roam in the fog of morning mist.
On the way to the city of St. John’s, we fulfill our fascination with extreme geographical points. Cape Spear marks the most easterly point in North America. (
A trail hugs the cliffs and weaves inland where again, wild blueberries abound.
After all this camping and hiking, it’s time for a hotel splurge. Besides, the truck needs servicing and the rain has returned. 
The JAG Boutique Hotel in the city of St. John’s is the hippest place we have ever stayed. What could be better than a hotel filled with images and uninterrupted music of an eclectic array of musicians and bands?
It’s hard to pull ourselves away from the JAG radio station on our TV to watch football. Now that is saying something!
We fall in love with the city of St. John’s immediately. An attractive city with a small- town feel. Colorful houses sit on hilly streets surrounding a sheltered harbor. Full of innovative restaurants, friendly pubs, and live music, what’s not to love?
After a turbulent ferry ride, thanks to remnants of hurricane Harvey, we can’t wait to drive off the boat. Bring on the wind and rain.
We quickly abandon plans to camp, and wild ideas about driving the 775 miles on the mostly gravel road to Labrador City.
Instead, we find a cottage with a sea view. There must be a sea out there somewhere beyond the rain and fog.
Fortunately, the beauty of this pristine, rugged land reveals itself to us the following morning when the skies clear for several hours.
Let’s drive north as far as the paved road permits, which isn’t very far.
Artifacts from Basque whalers at the Red Bay National Historic Site describe how this area was the largest whaling port in the world during the 16th-century.
Hard to imagine how fishermen braved the wind in these icy waters. Many shipwrecks lie under this ocean. Shoot, even the mud puddles have wind-blown whitecaps!
Few restaurants in these parts, so we cook comfort food in our cottage. Fresh cod tongues sauté with scallops in the kitchen tonight. Melt in your mouth.
Labrador’s population is under 27,000 people. We think half of them attended the wedding held in our hotel. As the party spills into the parking area we receive numerous invites to join the celebration.
Time to catch the ferry this final morning. A clear, sunny day allows us to see what we missed when we first drove in from the dock.
We have only scratched the surface of this cold, wet, and windy land and its hearty people. So grateful to have seen it.
We waste no time finding a Provincial Park, and light a campfire before dark. Brrr…, taking a pee under the stars in the cold night reminds one that they’re alive.
In the morning, forget about cooking coffee. A brisk 42 degrees Fahrenheit convinces us to hightail it to “Tim Horton’s.” If you’re on a road trip through Canada, remember that Tim Horton’s is your drive-through coffee/snack friend!
Welcome to Gros Morne National Park, where glaciers, frost, and flowing water have carved deep lakes and fjords out of bedrock. Some of these tectonic plates, the earth’s mantle, have traveled here from as far away as the equator to heave mountains into place. Plants can’t even grow on some of this strange rock.
A steady upward trail passes meat-eating plants. The Pitcher Plant is the floral emblem of Newfoundland and Labrador.
The mountain top views of the area remind us of the 
Hiking/walking coastal trails surround the working port of St. Anthony. Fresh air and rugged wilderness leave us lightheaded.
Even local folks come out to the lighthouse in the morning to sip coffee with a view. One man teaches me how to pronounce the name of his province, “NewfenLAND.” He tells a story about the boat being tugged in the bay.
“My brother was on that fishing boat,” he says. “He was stuck out at sea without a rudder for two days before being rescued. Can you imagine being at the mercy of wind and tides for two days?”
To the top of the island with you, Viking! Yes, Leif Erikson first landed right here.
The Vikings constructed sod buildings for living and storage.
Decomposing plants from bogs and fens in this area produce acids, which leach iron and other minerals from the soil and bedrock.
When the iron rusts, it adheres to sand and peat particles, forming nodules of bog iron. The Vikings forged bog iron into boat rivets. Could this be Newfoundland’s first blast furnace?
A young couple gathers bakeapple berries (cloud berries) that grow in the bogs and fens. They spend a lot of time gathering wild berries to make jams and other delights to supplement the fish, moose, and caribou that will fill their freezer for winter.
We could spend more time with these friendly folks, and have much more to see in Newfoundland, but first will ferry over to explore Labrador. Stay tuned!
