BEARLY believable beauty...
Wendy Driver is enthralled by Alaska’s epic scenery – and mesmerised by some of its magnificent residents
IT ISN’T every day that a bear wanders past your front door, so I was slightly taken aback when I arrived at Redoubt Bay Lodge. Josh, the manager, greeted me with the news that one had lumbered through the grounds that morning. ‘I’m giving you pepper spray and a bear horn in case he comes back tonight,’ he announced.
I had come to Alaska in the hope of seeing bears but I wasn’t sure I wanted one clawing at my cabin. You can come across them virtually anywhere in the state, but the lodge in Lake Clark National Park is one of the best places to spot them.
As it’s inaccessible by land, we had taken a seaplane for the hour-long flight from Anchorage, swooping down on a deep green lake.
Just three log cabins are situated at the water’s edge. It is a stunning place, encircled by densely wooded cliffs and the snow-crusted peaks of the Chigmit Mountains.
Most of our bear-viewing took place at Wolverine Creek, where we dropped anchor alongside fishermen. The ideal time was in the quiet of the evening when everyone else had left and we were alone with the bears.
It was mid-June, and with 24 hours of daylight we would stop out late watching grizzlies and black bears combing the rocks and pawing the shallows for salmon while their cubs wrestled with each other.
It was fine watching them from the safety of our boat but a different matter when we went looking for them on land. Our guide, John, car- ried a handgun for safety, although he assured me he had never used it. As we walked along the beach and hacked our way through the undergrowth, we gave them plenty of warning of our whereabouts.
While John repeatedly exclaimed ‘Hey, bear!’, I helped out by singing The Teddy Bears’ Picnic. It must have scared them off, for all we saw were paw prints in the sand.
Most holidaymakers visit Alaska on cruise ships but I had chosen a landbased trip and the chance to explore three of the state’s 15 national parks.
I had arrived in Alaska on an Icelandair flight via Reykjavik, by far the easiest and fastest route to Anchorage, before taking the Alaskan Railroad for the eight-hour journey to Denali.
The glass-domed carriages and open-air observation deck gave panoramic vistas of endless birch forests and milky rivers. We passed isolated communities where locals flagged down the train along the track. Sometimes they even barter for tickets with moonshine.
AT THE historic village of Talkeetna, the halfway point, I disembarked for a few minutes in the hope of meeting the mayor – a 19-year-old ginger cat who resides at Nagley’s General Store. But with the horn sounding, I had to scramble back on board.
No private vehicles are allowed into Denali National Park, so we boarded an old school bus for the
final leg of our journey. We were heading for Camp Denali, one of the few places to stay in a wilderness so vast it could swallow the whole of Wales. The views were jaw-dropping as we drove along a 90-mile dirt track, frequently slowing when a moose or bear crossed our path.
The accommodation comprised about 20 cabins scattered along a high ridge, each with an outhouse toilet and a cold-water tap nearby. The accommodation was basic, and there was no electricity, but the sight of the moon rising over Mount Denali, the highest peak in North America, more than compensated for the lack of comfort.
The shower block was a fiveminute hike uphill near the main building where we sat with other guests at mealtimes.
There was a choice of graded hikes to explore the park, and we split up into small groups with expert guides. I set off with Mark the first morning, sinking to my knees on the spongy tundra and battling my way through dense thickets of willow.
A miniature garden of lichen, moss and wild flowers bloomed beneath my feet and Mark stopped to pick berries and Alaskan bluebells for me to taste. I plunged my hand into a hole in the earth and my fingertips froze as I touched the permafrost just inches below the surface.
Higher up on the tundra, we picnicked on the snowline, listening to the chirping of the ground squirrels which were obviously agitated by our close proximity. Meanwhile, across the valley, a line of surefooted caribou was scaling a sheer wall of scree.
FOLLOWING my stay at Denali, I took the train back to Anchorage ready for my flight to Lake Clark. After my brush with bears there, I wanted to see more animals close up, so for the final part of my Alaskan adventure I headed south, calling first at the Wildlife Conservation Center on the Seward Highway. It is set among the Ghost Forest of Turnagain Arm – so-called because the trees were destroyed during a devastating earthquake in 1964. As tides swept in, trees were inundated with saltwater, soaking their roots and causing them to decay.
At the wildlife sanctuary, many injured and abandoned animals are kept in spacious enclosures. A young wolf was sharing his pen with domesticated dogs to help him adapt to living in a pack. Seward itself is a pretty harbour town where I boarded a wildlife cruise to my last wilderness destination, the Kenai Fjords Glacier Lodge. We were accompanied by rangers Laura and Sylvia, who pointed out rare seabirds and sealions. There were gasps, too, when a humpback whale breached only a few yards away. Then I lent over the bow to see a flash of black and white. It was a Dall’s porpoise darting back and forth right below us.
The lodge, with its beautifully appointed cabins, was hidden in rainforest beneath the Pedersen Glacier, and I joined Laura to take a closer look at its massive ice cliffs on a half-day excursion.
It was barely visible as storm clouds swept across the landscape. Wrapped head-to-toe in waterproofs, we trekked over the rain-sodden moraine to a black sandy beach on the edge of a glacial lake.
I could feel the icy chill from the glacier, even though it was several miles away. Icebergs drifted towards us while a sound like gunfire shattered the air and a huge chunk of ice tumbled into the water.
On my last day I went kayaking on the misty lagoon beside the lodge, coming to an abrupt halt when I noticed a black bear emerging from the water on the opposite bank. As it disappeared into the sedge grass, I promised myself I would be back.
After all, there are still another 12 national parks to explore…