Alaska: The ‘Can’t Leave Your Self Behind’ Guide

Beard grown? Check.  Warm clothes packed? Check.  Pioneering sense of adventure primed? Check.  Magnificent scenery-o-meter calibrated, faces set to stunned? Check and double check.

Then what do you need this guide for?  Stop buggering about and book a ticket to Alaska.

Done it yet?

You need more information?  Geez, you lot are demanding. 

Okay, let’s start with who this guide is not for.  If you’re sitting at your computer with a bear sandwich halfway to your lips, a hunting rifle perched next to your leg, and a truck full of bewildering outdoor kit sitting in your driveway then it’s probably best to just let out a mumbled pussy and get back to your slightly crinkly copy of Chicks, Clips and Conspiracies.  This is Alaska 101, and need not detain the veteran adventurer for long.

If however you’re intrigued and enraptured by visiting one of the most magnificent vacation destinations on earth, if you have a yearning for adventure, and if, like me a few months back, you have little to no idea of how to make this a reality then read on.  Then book a ticket.  Deal?

This guide covers some budgeting guidance (it’s expensive), the route we took, short overviews of where we visited and camped, tips on eating and drinking, and any other stuff that I think is either (a) useful, (b) funny, or (c) both.  As I have mentioned previously in the mini-guides I wrote for South East Asia what follows is far from comprehensive and even further from objective.  It is tips that I have compiled from what we did, and if it encourages just one reader to make the trip up north then I consider it time well spent on my part.  You can be the judge on whether reading it is time well spent on your part.

Before we start allow me to acknowledge the debt of gratitude I have to the anonymous contributors on the Lonely Planet and Fodor’s discussion forums who gave their time and guidance in helping me to plan for this trip.  Thank you.  This is my own contribution to the online community of travellers who understand that everyone who takes a trip needs, at some point, a bit of friendly advice.

We took our trip in mid July to early August 2011.

Northbound, ho!  

Budgeting

There’s no way to sugar coat this: Alaska is expensive.  The tourist businesses up there really do need to make hay whilst the sun shines and have perhaps four or five months to take home a year’s worth of income and it is this, in addition to the logistical expenses associated with being so remote, that push up prices.  We don’t regret for a moment changing our plans and including Alaska as an impromptu addition to our year long itinerary, but we did both take a sharp intake of breath when we concluded our expenses afterwards – bang goes the contingency budget, may need a plan B.

 

What I couldn’t find when I was planning our adventure was a rough guide to budgeting for an Alaska trip, so what follows is a partial remedy to this.  To give some context, as context is important when talking about budgets – we were conscious of our budget and didn’t do any of the more expensive activities such as flightseeing, and we camped to drastically reduce our accommodation costs.  A motel room will set you back anything from $150 USD per night upwards, whereas a campsite will charge between $10 and $25 per night.  Offsetting this somewhat is the fact that we had to buy all our camping kit, totalling perhaps $300, but this was an investment not just for Alaska but also for the rest of our trip that will follow in the ‘lower 48’ of the States. 

We ate out on occasion, probably on too many occasions if we’re honest, but also ate regularly around a campfire to cut costs.  Hiring a car undoubtedly added a big chunk to the overall expenses but it’s a cost worth swallowing for the freedom it affords.

So whilst the overall message is that Alaska will certainly make a dent in your bank account it is also worth noting that many of the best experiences are free – taking in the magnificent scenery, hiking through the backcountry, chatting with the folk who call this place home.

The hard figures

The figures below are for the two of us, in US Dollars, and are intended to provide a rough guide rather than a budget recommendation.  They cover everything from the flight up to Anchorage from Seattle, our time in Alaska, and the ferry journey back to Vancouver.

Total cost: c. $7,000 USD.

Of which roughly…

• $1,500 went on hiring an SUV with full insurance coverage in Alaska, and $250 for a one way rental on Vancouver Island.
• $1,360 went on flights – Seattle to Anchorage, Anchorage to Juneau
• $420 went on the Alaska ferry leg from Juneau to Prince Rupert, including a cabin
• $360 went on the BC ferry leg from Prince Rupert to Port Hardy
• $400 went on gas
• $350 went on activities: halibut fishing, kayaking, glacier hiking
• $300 went on camping kit

The rest of it went on the normal things you spend money on when you’re on vacation; eating out, booze, gifts, groceries, bumper stickers to decorate your cooler box.  You know, important stuff like that.  

Route and travel logistics

I debated various travel options before finally concluding on a fly-drive-ferry combo (fly to Alaska, drive around, ferry back south), and simply can’t recommend it highly enough, particularly for those flying internationally into the USA.

The overall travel plan is below, with more details on each leg in what follows (excluding the flights):

• Flight from Seattle to Anchorage
• Two week road trip in a hire car around central Alaska
• Flight from Anchorage to Juneau in southeast Alaska
• Alaska Ferry from Juneau down the Inside Passage to Prince Rupert, Canada (2 nights, 3 days)
• BC (British Columbia, Canada) Ferry from Prince Rupert to Port Hardy, Vancouver Island (1 day)
• One day car rental from Port Hardy to Nanaimo on Vancouver Island
• Ferry from Nanaimo to Horseshoe Bay in West Vancouver

The sea route – an ode to the ferries and the Inside Passage

Our end destination was Vancouver so changing ferry operators (from Alaska ferries to BC ferries) at Prince Rupert was necessary.  I understand however that Alaska Ferries (the Alaska Marine Highway to give it its official name) also run a trans-marine route from Seward in Alaska to Bellingham in Washington.  This would be an amazing trip, especially if you were flying out of Seattle.

Changing ferry operators afforded me the opportunity to compare the two and much as I’m reluctant to heap more negativity on the beleaguered BC Ferries I must confess that I preferred the Alaska Ferries.  The BC Ferry was sparkly and new and was just a little too much like a cruise ship for my liking, with a price tag to match ($180 CDN for a one day sailing on BC Ferries vs. $140 USD for a three day sailing with Alaska Ferries – do the maths on that one).  Interestingly, the reason why the BC ferry is so sparkly and new is because it replaced the previous one, which sank.  The story goes that the Captain and Second-in-Command were snoozing, but had left the fully trained Third-in-Command at the helm.  Who somewhat unwisely decided to get high and turn off the camera on the bridge so he and his girlfriend could feel the motion of the ocean in privacy.  Which they certainly did when the ferry ran aground and promptly sank. Can you imagine his annual appraisal?

Well, we’ve been delighted with your progress, in particular your dedication to attaining your navigation certificates.  Having said this there are some areas for improvement – not sinking boats whilst high and boning your girlfriend should be your main area of focus.

     

But let’s get back on topic - regardless of who you sail with down the Inside Passage let me just say this: it is incredible.  I was mentally writing a whole blog post about it but couldn’t get past a slightly spluttery and inarticulate ‘it’s really cool, it made me dead happy, we saw whales, and you get to sleep on a boat, and the food was scrummy, and can we go again, can we, can we, CAN WE???’  I couldn’t wait to get out of my berth each morning and revelled in the slow and serene pace of ferry life you slip into.  A bite to eat, a little stare out of the window, read a chapter of a book, a brief flurry of excitement as a whale sighting is announced and everyone dives to one side of the boat, listen to some music, do some writing, chat with a fellow passenger, oh it’s 4 o’clock better have a beer, stare out of the window a bit more, repeat.  It was, without question, one of the best things we’ve done in the last six months, a six months full of good things.  I was genuinely sad to get off in Prince Rupert.

Lots of people cruise that route and I’m sure it’s very good but for my money (and for yours) I’d give the ferries a crack.  Unless you really like shuffleboard, dress codes and compulsory tipping, in which case stick to a cruise line. I jest somewhat and am reluctant to vilify a travel method that I’ve never tried but the truth of the matter is that when we walked around Juneau, the Alaskan state capital and a cruise line hub, we repeatedly felt vindicated (and a little smug) by our decision to choose the ferry over a cruise.  Downtown Juneau is dominated by gift shops that service the cruise lines, all selling identical crap to the herds who step, as one, off the cruise ship to spend money on ‘I went to Juneau and all I got was the lousy t-shirt’ t-shirts.  I’ve no reason to believe that the cruise itself is anything less than remarkable, you can’t ruin the incredible scenery after all, but the idea of being shunted ashore every so often to poke around trinkets like a walking ATM, with thousands of other walking ATMs re-enacting a scene from Dawn of the Cruising Dead, is not my idea of fun.

 

But you know what? How you do it is less important than actually doing it.  Sail the Inside Passage – it’s incredible.

Ferry websites for fares, schedules and booking:

Alaska Marine Highway

BC Ferries

If you still would rather book a cruise rather than the ferry, and live in the States or Canada, then try Cruise Compete to negotiate a good deal

The land route

Our route took us south from Anchorage to a loop in the Kenai Peninsula (Kenai, Homer, Seward), back up to Anchorage, then in a loop via Talkeetna, Chena Hot Springs, Valdez, McCarthy and back to Anchorage.  We covered about 2,000 miles in two weeks and although there were a couple of long drive days the routes were magnificent and easy driving.  More details on the places we stopped follows in the section below.

View Larger Map

Hints and tips from the road tip

What follows is a collection of titbits, categorised by the locations we stopped at, and covering camping, activities, eating and drinking, plus anything else that pops into my mind.

Homer

We were very fond of Homer, not least because the sun came out and the sea glistened.

The City Campground in Hornaday Park on the hill above the town was fantastic, with beautiful peek-a-boo views out to the sea, and relatively secluded wooded sites. Plus it was cheap at only $8 per night.  No showers but you can pay for a good hot shower at the Washboard, who also offer laundry services, free Wi-Fi and good coffee.

The Tourist Information office in Homer was manned by quite possibly the friendliest chap in all of Alaska – worth dropping by just to have a chat with him.

Halibut fishing tours are big business in Homer, with countless operators lining the Spit.  I wandered from place to place trying to get the best deal before rapidly realising that they’d all price fixed, getting bored, and booking at the place with the most attractive professional staff.  I loved the tour I went on, and have written about it previously, so shan’t labour the point.  I did a half day trip and this was plenty, not least because I had bruises in my groin area from the two hours spent reeling in the monster, OK large-ish, halibut from the bottom of the ocean.  What, exactly, have you been up to to? asked Helen as I returned sweaty, tired, smelling of fish and with a bruised testicle.

Seward

Seward’s great attraction is Exit Glacier, and it’s well worth the short hike up there to stand next to it.  I mean, it’s not something you do every day, stand next to a glacier, even if it is just, in reality, like a massive cold boulder.

Kayaking in Seward

We camped at Miller’s Landing just out of the town centre and it has a majestic setting next to the water.  The sites are more expensive than State run campgrounds, and are a little close together, although the proximity to the water makes up for this.  They were also running a cracking deal on a half day kayak trip and we were fortunate to push off onto a perfectly still surface, our faces bathed in early morning sunshine.

 

Helen’s advice on the aquarium in Seward is: don’t bother, overpriced and underwhelming.  I anticipated as much so didn’t go.  Ooh, aren’t I clever?

Talkeetna

As we sat watching the US Army band rock out at the weekly ‘live at five’ gig in Talkeetna’s town square, the Alaskan railroad train chugging by in the background, the warm sun showing no signs of setting, I thought to myself I could live here. 

We camped at the small city campground at the end of Talkeetna’s main, and only, drag.  Although it didn’t provide the seclusion I prefer when camping it did afford the opportunity to have a drink, or several, and stagger back to the tent.  The girls put me to shame by staying out until 4am drinking at the Fairview Inn before falling through the tent flap and filling me in on their new best friend – an avuncular old timer called Leonard who, they slurred, had some moves.  So here’s the practical tip - go to Talkeetna, get drunk, and have a dance with the man in overalls called Leonard.  The girls also confirmed that the old adage about the male female ratio in Alaska – the odds are good but the goods are odd – was indeed true.

It won

Man vs Food recently filmed an episode at Talkeetna’s West Rib Café and Pub where the increasingly chubby host took on the ji-normous Seward’s Folly burger.  I tried to conquer it’s half-size sibling.  Food won.

Chena Hot Springs Resort, north of Fairbanks

Don’t bother.  It’s tatty and overpriced, and the owners seemed to have given up.  It’s the one place we regretted going, especially as we made the judgement call to head up north rather than go to Denali National park. 

The one saving grace was that a moose wandered into our campground, unhurriedly chomped its way through some wild flowers, then made a beeline for Kate who was hiding behind the car, causing her to let out a small squeal.  Both humbling and extremely funny.

Valdez

Well, it rained in Valdez.  A lot.  Then it rained some more.  Then the mist descended. So we didn’t really see Valdez in its best light, which is unfortunate as judging by the drive over the mountains and then down into Valdez this is one of the most beautiful places in Alaska. 

The Valdez Glacier Campground provided a good place to stay, with hot showers.  And here’s a tip for the dog loving budget traveller; the local animal rescue centre lets you take their dogs for a walk.  Cute dogs, nice trails, free.  A winning combination.  Until you have to say goodbye to your new best friend of course.

McCarthy

I’ve written about McCarthy in a previous post, so just the additions here.

Fill up the car before you start the road to McCarthy – there’s no gas en route.  There are a couple of campsites near McCarthy which seemed fairly similar to me.  We chose to stay at the one that was overseen by a cheerful Jonny Vegas lookalike, and it was fine.

The glacier hike is a great way to spend the day, especially if you’ve never walked with crampons on your feet before.

Conclusion

I want to go back.  Writing about Alaska makes me miss it.  It’s incredible.

Seriously now, I’ve told you once already, stop reading this and book a ticket.

Go on, on your way, nothing more to see here.

My other posts written whilst we were in Alaska

A-Unit: Thrift in the Last Frontier.  Written whilst in Homer, and an ode to my love of thrift stores, with a bit of impromptu rapping thrown in for good measure.

Dream Catcher: Also written from Homer, a post that recounts the day I spent halibut fishing, and the good people I met on the boat.

Warner & Spidey get lucky: A post about the road to McCarthy, what to expect when you get there, and some cheeky historical reimagining of what it must have been like to be the pioneers who first discovered this remote place.

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A-Unit: thrift in the Last Frontier

Alaska, Kenai Peninsula

‘Eew, don’t put that thing on my hoodie, it smells like dead people’. 

‘Well I think it’s pretty snazzy, and look, the last owner has left me a bottle top in one of the pockets’ I replied, proffering up the bonus gift from the inside pocket of my newly acquired four dollar bright orange body-warmer I had snaffled, along with a bunch of other cold weather gear, from the Salvation Army thrift store’s racks in Homer, the southernmost town on Alaska’s Kenai Peninsula.

‘Yeh, well I bet that was his lucky bottle top, one he always carried and fondled as he fished these waters, before that fateful night when the cruel mistress of the ocean took him.  And now you have it, a bad omen.  Like I say, it smells of dead people, and that stain looks like poo’.

And so began the call and response game between me and our new temporary travelling companion, my oldest friend, Haley Joel Osment Kate who had, in a moment of impressive impulsiveness, said ‘why the hell not’ and booked a last minute holiday, not to the Balearics, but to Alaska to join us.

(Me) ‘Ooh, these new boots are warm’, (Kate) ‘dead people’s boots’. 

(Me) ‘This fleece really was terrific value’, (Kate) ‘That’s what they said, before they died’.

(Me) ‘These underpants are, um, supportive’:  (Kate) <raised eyebrow> ‘Bet they died of crotch rot’.

I love thrift shops (charity shops in British parlance), and can happily spend hours poking around the racks, or plunging elbow deep into the bargain bins.  And thrift shops in North America are the best.  The ‘make do and mend’ ethos has not yet supplanted the ‘give away and buy new’ one, and I’m happy picking at the bones of this consumer society, a vulture circling before hungrily swooping on a branded bright blue, down filled hat, with earflaps, for the princely sum of 50 cents.  Maybe that’s what that old rapscallion 50 cent (or fiddy as the inarticulate kids call him) should do a remix to his song Candy Shop about:

gonna take you to the thri-ift shop

I’ll let you touch my bottle top

go ‘head girl, ignore the plop

keep going ‘til you buy the lot

I'll take you to the thri-ift shop
Boy one taste of this crotch rot
I'll have you spending not much of what you got
Keep going 'til you find those pots (woah)       

Yeah...
Uh huh
So cheap

gonna take you to the thri-ift shop

Come and touch this new pot

go ‘head girl, ignore the clots

Keep going we’ll refurnish the yacht

Ohh, yeh, baby etc…

But let’s back up a little.  We weren’t supposed to be in Alaska.  We were supposed to be in Myanmar (Burma).  That is until on one humid and sticky evening in Vietnam a couple of months ago Helen turned to me and said ‘I can’t believe we’ve still got six weeks left in South East Asia.  This sounds really bad, but I kinda want a change of scenery’.  ‘Yeh, I sort of know what you mean’ I replied.  ‘We could, of course, change our plans’ I floated.  ‘Where would you really like to go’? I asked, figuring that once you articulate your hopes the rest is just detail.  ‘Well, this is stupid and totally unrealistic’ she replied, ‘but we’ve always talked about Alaska, but it’s a long way away’.  And that’s what did it.  Alaska is a long way away.  But then it is always a long way away, no matter where you are.  That’s the point.  Alaska is exotic, more exotic to me than anywhere else I could think of.  Where men are men and moose are nervous.  Where the border guards get twitchy if you don’t have a beard, even more so if you’re a man. 

So, a couple of calls to the friendly people at Trailfinders in Cardiff to shift our flights, a plea of assistance to those kind, anonymous folk who answer questions in travel discussion forums on t’interweb for no reward other than the satisfaction that comes from the maxim of ‘it’s nice to be nice’, and we had a new plan.  Having a new plan – is there anything finer?  It’s one of the things that has stuck with me most from the time we spent in Africa with our tour leader, and now friend, Tim; his fondness for the phrase ‘let’s make a plan’.  It’s a phrase so full of possibilities, so lacking in procrastination, so no-nonsense.  It sits up there with ‘yes we can’, ‘ I have a dream’, and ‘I want a Big Society’.  Oh, hang on a sec, one of those phrases doesn’t look quite right – that’s right Cameron, the one that means absolutely NOTHING, you naïve, focus-group reliant, out of your depth buffoon.

Anyway, what was I saying? Ah, yes, Alaska, our new plan.  Flying up from Seattle, where we’d rendezvoused with Kate, the sky getter lighter as we headed north, we peered out of the plane window, seeing wraith-like clouds hugging the mountain ranges and stretching down to the sea like glaciers.  Oh, they are glaciers.  Lots of glaciers, hugging the coastline until the lights of Anchorage appeared like an oasis of civilisation in this untamed land. Trying, but failing, to get some sleep in the hire car on our first night I reflected that now was probably the time to get our game faces on, or we’d end up looking like complete greenhorns, the type of city folk who try to cuddle a grizzly and then look shocked when it acts like a wild animal.  Or at least would look shocked if they still had a face left. 

But who was I kidding?  We were greenhorns.  Better to admit it and respect this land of unforgiving wilderness than act all enigmatic and end up trudging Into the Wild before realising the wild wouldn’t let us trudge back out.   We all, I think, shared this exciting sense of the unknown, of a wilderness beyond Anchorage, that tinge of nervousness that accompanies a new adventure tugging at our bellies.  The simmering nervousness was relieved the next day when Kate said she’d ask for directions to the nearest Liqueur Store. ‘Um, I think they pronounce it Liquor Store’ I replied, ‘there’s not much call for crème-de-menthe up here’.  Giggling, the hire car stocked up with camping kit, a new cooler, a ridiculously oversized tent, and enough liquor to fell a mountain man, we headed south out of Anchorage into the Kenai Peninsula, Adam and Joe podcasts on the Ipod in the car, the most staggering and humbling landscape rolling by outside the car.

Bathed in sunshine we carried on south, then west, passing scores of fisherman lined up along the banks of the Kenai River, reeling in salmon with an ease that reminded me that of all the adjectives one could apply to Alaska, abundance is probably the best.  Abundant scenery, abundant space, abundant wildlife, abundant natural resources.  Excluding the intelligence of Alaska’s most recent, most glamorous, and certainly most famous Governor this was a land of abundance.  Finally however, the distinct lack of abundance in my sleep got the better of me and I declared that we had to set up camp for the night or risk seeing one of those river beds in a little more detail than any of us would appreciate.

Sleep deprived, inexperienced, and desperate for a camping spot we made a stupid decision as the rain started to fall, first in drops, then in sheets.  'That beach looks interesting' we said, 'there are lots of other people camped down there'.  And there were, except these were fishermen, taking part in the annual dip-net fishing event that is hosted on the beach in Kenai.  They were there to catch fish in their oversized nets not, as we were to discover, to enjoy a prime camping spot.  Pulling our camping kit out of the car, price tags still attached, we dragged it down onto the beach in torrential rain, the phrase ‘city folk’ running through my mind as we received bemused looks from the locals.  Resisting the urge to batter them out of the way with our double air mattress (‘well, I might look like a ridiculous city slicker, but at least I’ll be a comfortable ridiculous city slicker, bosh’) we erected our cavernous tent in silence, soaked through to the bone, sand making its way into every nook, cranny, and orifice.  Shivering in the tent, the wind blowing off our rain sheet after a fitful night’s sleep, we were up and out of there early, at which point I remembered the old military adage; any fool can be uncomfortable.  I’m no fool, I lied to myself. 

And that is what led us to going wild in the aisles in the thrift store when we arrived in Homer, with the conviction that there’s no such thing as bad weather, just bad preparation.  With a new warm, waterproof wardrobe purchased for less than $25 we were ready to put our inauspicious start behind us.  Humming a little tune, our Alaska adventure was beginning to take shape…

Hey girls, we’re in Alaska

we’re gonna party like it’s Alaska

we’re gonna sip liqueur as it’s Alaska

 And you know we don't care for bears
‘cos it’s Alaska!

Bo.

Kate and I on the beach in Homer.  Check out the new threads!

<< Well, the blog has shot through the 6,000 page views mark which is, as ever, far more exciting for me than it is for you. A big welcome to all the new readers; a veritable smorgasbord of nationalities.  Thank you for reading, particularly those of you who came for the 'useful' posts on SE Asia and have stayed for the whole show.  There will be another 'useful' post on Alaska coming soon, but I first need to rid my mind of all the superfluous nonsense about thrift stores, 50 cent, and whatever else pops in before then.  

Although most of what I write is tongue-in-cheek, my thanks for reading is straight down the line serious:  <Hand friskily placed on your forearm, intense and creepy eye contact, little bit of spittle around the edges of my mouth> Thank you. >>