HALF-BAKED ALASKA, PART I

 ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (08-31-23)

     We're back from a wonderful trip to Alaska, and whether you like it or not, I'm going to tell you all about it. People have asked, "How long was your trip?" Well, it was a total of nine days and one night. That's because during the summer, Alaska is the "Land of the Midnight Sun." And you can see a beautiful sunset if you stay up past your bedtime until 11:30 or so. But don't forget, in the winter Alaska is also the land of the noonday moon, with only a couple hours of sunlight a day.

     I thought I could pack casual to save suitcase room, but then I thought, what if I get caught in a long line at the Anchorage airport and get swallowed up by a glacier? And 30,000 years from now experts will dig me up and evaluate my clothing from an archaeological standpoint. Why was he wearing that ugly shirt? Was it to ward off predators? We began our trip outside of Fairbanks at the Chena Hot Springs Resort, an unassuming conglomeration of buildings that belies the innovations of its forward-thinking owner. The place is run by its own on-site geothermal-powered turbine. When I asked if they were "off-the-grid," the answer was, "What grid?" We did eventually see evidence that Alaska would soon be getting the telegraph. The plant also makes plants, in a hydroponic vegetable-growing facility that produces all the produce for its restaurants.

     Great weather always follows us on vacation, but we were not expecting 85-degree sunshine in the Last Frontier, and our tour of the Aurora Ice Museum was postponed until the next day. When we got there the 1,000 tons of frozen water kept at 25 degrees contained intricate pieces by renowned ice sculptor Steve Brice, and an ice bar serving cocktails. If you ask for a margarita you need not specify that it be frozen, and I would be suspicious of any wine served at room temperature.

     We also toured their kennel facility, where dogs can train for the Iditarod, an annual re-enactment of a 1925 life-saving run of diphtheria serum by dogsled from Anchorage to Nome. A statue of Balto, the lead dog who became a national hero, was erected in Central Park that year. The lead dog runs the show, but the swing dog is the second-in-command, and must take the lead should the number one dog fail to fulfil its duties. The wheel dog is in the rear, keeps an eye on the other dogs and initiates turns.

     My own dog Gidget is Canadian, and she was bred to be a sled dog. I can easily picture her traveling the almost 1,000-mile route, as long as there is a comfortable place for her to sit on the sled. She's not going to pull anything. She is very easily distracted, and spends much of her time trying to lick things. I sometimes ask her, you're licking random objects all the time and you never once had a bad experience with that? I guess if you can't lick 'em, don't join 'em.

     The resort boasts a very refreshing man-made wading pool, which cools the incoming 165-degree underground spring water to a more humane temperature. I could not confirm the legendary healing powers of the mineral-laden waters, but a breakdown of the chemical content showed a lithium value of 250 PPM, so I guess it's a great place to go to recharge your batteries. I'm thinking of turning my own swimming pool into a resort for people trying to escape global warming, since it seems to sustain a constant temperature of about 33 degrees.

     Back in Fairbanks the next morning, we took the historic Alaska Railroad south on a breathtaking tour of the vistas that are just a normal occurrence here. Gold Star service means fine dining as well as a seat in the upper domed sight-seeing car. You can gorge on great food as well as gorgeous gorges in between the stunning Alaska Mountain range. The railroad, begun in 1903 by a private company, was finished by the federal government in 1923, at a cost of about five times what the U.S. paid for entire state 56 years prior.

     We de-trained in the kitschy town of Talkeetna, native for "Three Rivers." The unofficial but popular mayor of the place is a cat named Aurora who lives at the general store. We met her, and while I wouldn't ask her to outline this year's budget, I would trust her with decisions regarding fair mousing, and duties related to the purr-formance of the Town Pouncil. In the center of town is a grass airstrip, common in the state, used in bygone days for supplies and now mostly for tourism.

     The next day we took an ATV tour of the local trails. We made a few stops to admire the scenery, one of which held a dramatic sighting of Mt. Denali. The 20,000-foot behemoth, as big as it is, is only fully visible 30 percent of the time, so we were lucky to have a full view of it just before it hopped in the shower. Denali means "The Great One" in native Koyukon, and was restored as the official name from Mt. McKinley in 2015, since William McKinley, not a horrible president, was certainly not The Great One. I'll see you in Anchorage next week for Part II. Wear something comfortable.