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Memorial Day was only a few days off, but winter still held its grip across
much of the 49th State as we boarded a train in Anchorage and headed
for Seward, a busy port town on the southeast coast of the Kenai.
A thick, gray overcast drooped low across the landscape, the temperature
held steady in the low 40s, and a rain-laced wind swept off the
wave-whipped Cook Inlet, which separates Anchorage from the peninsula.
Even so, it was a red-letter day for both of us, and we gazed out
with approval at granite crags, oozing glaciers and endless tracts
of forest as we climbed into the Kenai Mountains. It was shirtsleeve
warm inside the dining car, where we lingered over breakfast while
our young narrator described the unfolding wonderland before us.
It was the first trip of the season and her delivery was a bit pursed,
although we hardly minded. The train was less than half full, which
meant lots of room to move about; by late June, one veteran employee
assured me, every seat would be full.
Pity our own kids weren't along to fill a few seats. Glenn's three
sons and my daughter (ages 11-18) all would have had loved the outing,
which only beginning with the train ride. Arriving in Seward, we
scurried through the rain to the nearby marina, where an all-weather
tour boat was waiting to take us on a seven-hour cruise to Kenai
Fjords National Park. I had booked the trip through Gray Line in
early April, one of dozens they run across Alaska. Even then, mid-summer
trips were quickly filling up.
It was easy to see why in 1980 President Carter granted national
park status to Kenai Fjords, a wonder world of tumbling ice, soaring
mountains and placid fjords. More than 30 named glaciers pour down
from the huge Harding Ice Field, 4000 feet high in the Kenai Mountains.
Even on a gloomy day, it is a breathtaking destination. There was
much to see even before we reached the park, heading out of Resurrection
Bay, a long, narrow arm of water that is home to Seward.
I was laid low, however, when we hit the storm-tossed Gulf of Alaska,
which we had to enter to reach any of the fjords. I retreated to
the stern, where a kindly crewmember brought a cup of ginger ale
and assurances the worst would soon be over. I made it stomach intact,
and it was worth the discomfort. Within a half-hour we had reached
the calm, teal waters of Kenai Fjord, where chunks of ice bumped
against the hull as we approached Aialik Glacier, a so-called "tidal
glacier" that empties into the ocean or a bay. It was a crowd-pleaser
of the first order, earning scattered oohs and ahs from those lucky
enough to be watching each time a massive block of ice calved into
the water.
We'd spend almost an hour watching the glacier before turning about,
the cruise's other major attraction. We'd spot a pod of dolphins,
assorted sea otters and a pair of huge humpback whales through the
mist, while black bears stalked the wooded shore and several bald
eagles tended their nests in the spruce trees overhead.
Seward Is No Slouch
While our fellow travelers returned by train to Anchorage, Glenn
and I remained in Seward, walking to the nearby Hertz agency, where
a pair of friendly clerks and a Ford Focus sedan were waiting for
us. I'd called ahead and told the manager we might not arrive until
almost closing time, and she promised to stay on if we returned
late. Her demeanor matched that of locals I would meet all over
Alaska -- upbeat, outgoing, solicitous to a fault. She and her underling
were truly excited about my project and that two Southern California
dudes had such a keen interest in their state.
Truth is, it's easy to get spellbound in a place like Seward, surrounded
on three sides by snow-crowned mountains, with a quaint downtown
and charming waterfront at the head of Resurrection Bay. Salmon
and halibut fishing are outstanding, and a vast, untrammeled wilderness
begins only a few blocks away. Seward has long been a major player
in state affairs, far more than your average town of 3100, due largely
to its year-round ice-free port. The Alaska Railroad and original
Iditarod dogsled trail both start here, and it's a major stop for
ferries on the Alaska Marine Highway. Even the Alaska state flag
has its roots here, compliments of favorite son Benny Benson, the
orphaned schoolboy who submitted the winning design during a statewide
contest in 1926.
From strictly a sightseeing point, a couple of days should be enough
for most travelers to cover Seward. The major in-town attraction
is the Alaska SeaLife Center, a sparkling, modern complex with an
impressive lineup of local marine life, hands-on exhibits and more.
Opened in 1998, the $56 million facility was among the few good
things to come of the huge Exxon Valdez oil spill -- financed largely
by restitutions Exxon was forced to pay following the 1989 eco-disaster.
I was reminded of a scaled down Long Beach Aquarium but with an
Alaskan theme and far prettier surroundings. We spent the morning
perusing the interactive displays, touching sea stars in the petting
pond and watching sea lions frolic about in their huge tank. On
a clear day, the view of the bay from the observation deck would
have been stupendous; as it was, the snow-laced headlands and steel
gray waters of the bay provided an austere beauty in their own right.
A steady drizzle couldn't keep us away from Exit Glacier, 13 miles
northwest of town and one of the few glaciers in the state easily
reached by land. A flat, 0.6-mile trail leads through the woods
to the glacier, although it was tricky walking, between the patches
of ice and snow, and scattered clumps of moose droppings. Then again,
we had the place almost to ourselves as we wandered about the rocky
moraine at the glacier's base, gazing up at the huge river of ice.
With peak season still nearly a month off, we could count on both
hands the number of other visitors.
That evening we resumed our gastronomic research of Seward, having
dinner at Chinook's Waterfront, an upscale steak and seafood restaurant
that emerged as our hands-down favorite. Other spots enjoyed the
same harbor/mountain view, but Chinook's excelled across the board.
The fresh salmon and halibut met the high standards we'd set for
a town like this, and our waitress was friendly and prompt, but
never obtrusive. While the atmosphere seemed formal, the dress code
was decidedly casual -- something I'd find throughout my Alaskan
travels. Putting on the ritz up here apparently means donning your
finest fleece top with a pair of blue jeans and lug-soled boots. |
