Alaska in February

In February of 2013, my family and I took a trip to Alaska to visit a friend of mine who was living there. Alaska had always been that “long shot” vacation that I never really thought we’d get to take, but it had long been a place I’d wanted to go to. My friend took a two-year job and ended up not liking it there–too cold and dark, she said. I decided that since my friend wouldn’t be there after another year, now was the time to make the trip happen. We went, had a great time, saw some amazing sights, and we all ended up wanting to go back–even in February. As a side, a lady I met who grew up in Alaska started laughing maniacally when told her we’d gone in February. And it was cold–20 below cold at night. But we survived.

A shortened version of this article was published in the March 2013 edition of Dash, a special publication of the Register-Guard. The photos are mine. The longer version of this article appears after the shortened one.

Alaska in February
A family undeterred by cold experiences the call of the wild

By Vanessa Salvia

At the time of year when most travelers are packing a couple of swimsuits and heading off to a warm beach, my family was digging through our closets to find our warmest sweaters, hats, mittens, scarves and long johns. Though we did pack our swimsuits, our destination was hundreds of miles from the nearest beach: My husband Ed, our 5-year-old son James, 14-year-old daughter Fiona and me were headed to Fairbanks, Alaska.

My family and I have traveled extensively over the United States, seeking out remote camping spots and visiting far-flung family from California to Minnesota to Florida. Visiting Alaska was always a “maybe someday” sort of place. The idea to actually go to Alaska was planted months before, when a good friend of mine told me that she had decided to visit her brothers in Alaska for the summer of 2010. Searching for a summer job led her into a two-year contract in a managerial position at a large retail store. Turns out, my friend Lucy liked the company she worked for, but not living in Alaska, and she wasn’t planning on staying beyond summer 2012. I knew that if I was going to make a trip to Alaska happen, it had to be now.

When I first mentioned going to Alaska in February to my husband, he raised one eyebrow and gave me a long look. “You know it’s going to be cold, right?” he warned. Yes, of course, but just think of the adventure! And the northern lights! I countered. He wasn’t convinced that I would actually follow through with my plans, but when I started running airline itineraries by him, he had to admit I was serious. 5-year-old James got excited about the idea of seeing snow and a moose or two, and didn’t think much of it beyond that. 14-year-old Fiona, however, thought we were “nuts” to even consider the idea. I handled all of the travel arrangements, and though I told my family about the progress at each step of the way, it was all a bit abstract for them. Fast-forward eight months, and the trip that had seemed like only a vague suggestion was upon us, and we had to figure out how to stuff that last sweater into each of our bags.

On the plane, as we made our descent into Fairbanks. James looked out the window and saw snow and mountain peaks as far as he could see in any direction. “That’s Alaska. Oh yeah!” he said, as a big grin spread across his face. I knew it was going to be great.

Remote landing

Fairbanks, population 33,000, is situated in central Alaska, a state that measures 2,400 miles from east to west and 1,420 miles from north to south. Alaska is bigger than Texas, California and Montana combined. Though there are some villages in any direction, it’s 500 miles from Fairbanks to the nearest significant population centers—Prudhoe Bay to the north, and Nome to the west. Much of the state has no roads. In fact, Alaska’s state capital, Juneau, can only be accessed by air or water.

Our plan called for flying from Eugene into Fairbanks on Thursday, picking up a rental car, and driving about 30 miles outside of town to A Taste of Alaska Lodge. We were to be there for three nights, then take the Alaska Railroad from Fairbanks to Wasilla, where my friend Lucy lives and works, staying in a hotel for three nights there, and flying out of Anchorage the following Thursday. Getting there isn’t hard: an hour or so flight from Eugene to Seattle followed by a 3 1/2 hour flight to Fairbanks and a change of the clock to an hour earlier. I hadn’t anticipated paying for crash insurance, but when the rental car agent asked me if I wanted extra protection at $30 per day, I agreed. The roads were icy slick, and our rental car didn’t come equipped with snow tires. Environmental concerns prevent Fairbanksans from salting the roads, but they do use gravel. Still, deep drifts of snow on the sides of roads, ditches that you can’t see, and other cars fishtailing can make driving treacherous. Thankfully, we didn’t need to utilize the insurance, but I had a little more peace of mind that we had purchased it.

Miles from nowhere

I wasn’t allowing myself to anticipate too much, but the timing was right for an aurora borealis experience. A waxing crescent moon imparted minimal light to the night sky. We were away from the city lights. And Fairbanks itself is a prime viewing location, being that it is situated at the edge of a ring-shaped region that circles the north magnetic pole, where auroral activity is most common. It also has less cloud cover because of its distance from the ocean.

When I first began making reservations for our trip, I was told that February is among the most difficult months to get reservations for. Charter flights from Japan bring thousands of Japanese visitors to Alaska each winter to see the northern lights. Most of the other lodgers with us were Japanese, and our first night we experienced an unexpected serenade. We were relaxing in our family suite off the dining room when a dozen people started singing American pop songs to piano accompaniment. As the strains of “Sukiyaki” wafted over us, we settled in for our first night in Fairbanks.

I set my alarm four times during the first night at the lodge. Each time I awoke, dressed and poked my head out of the door to check the sky. Nothing. The second night I followed the same routine. At 2 am I heard other lodgers out in the back field. I heard someone say, “Over here!” with an excited tone that I knew meant something was happening in the sky. I quickly bundled up and crunched through the snow to the field. And there they were. Not particularly strong or colorful, but noticeable. After watching in awe for five minutes, I hustled back to the lodge to wake up everyone else. Little James stayed in bed, and Fiona only lasted about 5 minutes in the frigid, ten degrees below zero air, but the rest of us watched until the sky dancing stopped, about 20 minutes later. Clouds and snow moved in the third night, but that 20-minute light show left me satisfied.

Summertime visitors won’t see the northern lights because it is daylight for nearly the entire 24-hour day, but the midnight sun would be worth visiting for. We experienced a nearly normal period of daylight, from 8 am to 5 pm, but the sun didn’t rise above the 10 am position in the sky. We took advantage of the light and drove 60 miles to Chena Hot Springs Resort, where we would finally put our bathing suits to use. On the road to Chena we saw two moose, one female and one bull, fully antlered, running across the road right in front of our car. Another fun moment was seeing a sled pulled by gorgeous huskies running right alongside the road.

There are no nearby towns, so if you stay in the resort’s cabins you can expect to eat all of your meals on-site. They have the US’s northern-most production greenhouse, where they grow lettuce and tomatoes for the lodge restaurant. Chena Hot Springs was discovered in 1905 by surveyors. Today the resort uses the springs’ naturally hot water to generate all its own energy, and the resort offers daily tours of their geothermal heating system. Activities include dogsled rides, snowmobiling, sightseeing flights, and, what we were there for, a tour of the ice hotel and dips in the outdoor rock-lined natural mineral hot springs, where the water is 165 degrees. Soaking while snow flakes fall on your hair in the steamy air was amazing. Unfortunately, children are not allowed in the lake but they can try the indoor pool, so we all had to take turns staying with the kids.

Inside the Chena ice museum, two champion ice carvers create carvings from 2-ton blocks of ice harvested on-site. Inside the balmy 20-degree building are carvings of animals, jousters on horseback, two beds carved out of ice that are available for rent, a wedding chapel and a bar caved from ice where you can purchase an appletini served in a martini glass carved from ice. The drink must be pre-purchased for $15, and the tourguides are not bartenders, so unless you really like the taste of cheap sour apple schnapps, skip it!

The travel literature gives the impression that the city of North Pole (not THE North Pole) is decorated like Christmas all year-round. After making the short drive there, we realized that it is pretty much one building that is a gift shop, that is indeed decorated like Christmas all year-round, complete with Christmas music playing on the sound system. All day. Every day. While that “town” was disappointing, we did enjoy delicious fudge from the candy shop, purchased our gifts for friends back home, and got some Christmas ornaments to give to our family as gifts.

Later this day, we made a stop at the Morris Thompson Cultural and Visitors Center, where we viewed exhibits and dioramas relating the culture and lifestyle of the native Athabascans. The University of Fairbanks also has an extensive Museum of the North, but the cultural center admission is free.

The cultural center is about eight miles from a viewing area of the Trans-Alaska Pipeline, which carries oil 800 miles from Prudhoe Bay in the north to Valdez in the south. Though all of us felt remorse for the knowledge that the beautiful landscape we were enjoying was at risk from oil leakage, sabotage or vandalism, we all marveled at the great marvel of engineering.

Oil was discovered in Prudhoe Bay in 1968, after the 1973 oil crisis in the United States spurred greater exploration. The pipeline is 48-inches in diameter and conveys oil across three mountain ranges, through difficult, isolated terrain, and is above ground in several places to avoid permafrost. We learned from the cultural center that the use of oil was not a modern activity. There is so much oil in that area that several natural seeps permeate the ground. The Iñupiat people on the North Slope of Alaska harvested this oil-soaked peat and had used it for fuel and heat for thousands of years.

We also made a stop at Silver Gulch Brewery, America’s Northern-most brewery.

When it came time to leave Fairbanks, no one wanted to go. But anticipation of the 300-mile train ride past mountains, glaciers and frozen rivers got us moving. Though the Alaskan winter usually hides most wildlife, we did catch a glimpse of four caribou running across a frozen lake. The train stopped a couple of times in remote locations to let on some mushers and their dogs. The route skirts the eastern edge of Denali National Park, home of the highest mountain in North America, 20,320-foot tall Mount McKinley (Denali means “the high one” or “the great one” in the native Athabascan language). Clouds obscured our view, but there was plenty of other dramatic landscape to keep us entranced. Though Fiona slept through much of it, Lucy, James and I enjoyed a rousing couple of hours of Pass the Pigs while snacking on cheese, crackers and bread that we had purchased at the Fairbanks Fred Meyer.

Down south

Wasilla is home to about 10,000 people. Our hotel was on the shores of 350-acre Lake Lucille, which in the summertime is a bustling place for swimming, boating, fishing or docking boatplanes.

The Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race Headquarters are very near Lake Lucille. The 1,100 mile race to Nome has its ceremonial start in Anchorage the first Saturday in March. The race’s actual start was historically in Wasilla, though because of snow conditions it has been moved to the neighboring town of Willow.

Our first full day in Wasilla, we took a drive down the Glenn Highway National Scenic Byway to Glacier View, Alaska. There we saw amazing views of the Matanuska Glacier, a 26-mile long (or so) valley glacier that feeds the Matanuska River. On Tuesday, we drove along the Turnagain Arm of Cook Inlet, where beluga whales can sometimes be seen at their namesake Beluga Point. Though we didn’t see any marine life, we did see several clusters of Dall sheep that traverse the rocky outcroppings to browse alongside the highway. By this point in the trip, Fiona no longer wanted to venture far from the warmth of the car or hotel room, so she peered at the sheep through the window. And it was at this point in the trip that I realized our mistake of not packing sunglasses! The sun’s glare on bright white, fresh snow was blinding!

Next, we drove through snow into the little ski-bum town of Girdwood. Skiers and snowboarders take to the slopes of the mountain year-round. We fueled up with French onion soup and grilled cheeses at a Girdwood restaurant called The Bake Shop, and watched the skiers and snowboarders heading up and down Mt. Alyeska (Alyeska was the native Aleutian name for this “great land.”)

On our final day in Alaska, we drove to Anchorage and went to the Alaska Zoo. The stash of hand warmers I had packed for us really paid off this day, as we all stuffed them into our pockets as we walked around in the 10 degree or so air. Most of the animals at the zoo are orphaned or injured animals that can’t survive in the wild due to various injuries.

Heading home was bittersweet. Now, having gone to Alaska, we all want to go back again. Some of us, like my husband, would be happy to take that same trip again in the wintertime. Fiona and James would like to go back in summertime and see the abundant wildflowers, and wildlife. Me, I’m already plotting how to get from here to Barrow. There’s plenty of daylight for exploring . . . when the sun rises in Barrow on May 10, it doesn’t set again for three months.

Below is the long version.

Alaska in February

A family undeterred by cold experiences the call of the wild

By Vanessa Salvia

At the time of year when most travelers are packing a couple of swimsuits and heading off to a warm beach, my family was digging through our closets to find our warmest sweaters, hats, mittens, scarves and long johns. Though we did pack our swimsuits, our destination was hundreds of miles from the nearest beach: My husband Ed, our 5-year-old son James, 14-year-old daughter Fiona and me were headed to Fairbanks, Alaska.

My family and I have traveled extensively over the United States, seeking out remote camping spots and visiting far-flung family from California to Minnesota to Florida. Visiting Alaska was always a “maybe someday” sort of place. The idea to actually go to Alaska was planted months before, when a good friend of mine told me that she had decided to visit her brothers in Alaska for the summer of 2010. Searching for a summer job led her into a two-year contract in a managerial position at a large retail store. Turns out, my friend Lucy liked the company she worked for, but not living in Alaska, and she wasn’t planning on staying beyond summer 2012. I knew that if I was going to make a trip to Alaska happen, it had to be now.

When I first mentioned going to Alaska in February to my husband, he raised one eyebrow and gave me a long look. “You know it’s going to be cold, right?” he warned. Yes, of course, but just think of the adventure! And the northern lights! I countered. He wasn’t convinced that I would actually follow through with my plans, but when I started running airline itineraries by him, he had to admit I was serious. 5-year-old James got excited about the idea of seeing snow and a moose or two, and didn’t think much of it beyond that. 14-year-old Fiona, however, thought we were “nuts” to even consider the idea. I handled all of the travel arrangements, and though I told my family about the progress at each step of the way, it was all a bit abstract for them. Fast-forward eight months, and the trip that had seemed like only a vague suggestion was upon us, and we had to figure out how to stuff that last sweater into each of our bags.

On the plane, as we made our descent into Fairbanks. James looked out the window and saw snow and mountain peaks as far as he could see in any direction. “That’s Alaska. Oh yeah!” he said, as a big grin spread across his face. I knew it was going to be great.

Remote landing

Fairbanks, population 33,000, is situated in central Alaska, a state that measures 2,400 miles from east to west and 1,420 miles from north to south. Alaska is bigger than Texas, California and Montana combined. Though there are some villages in any direction, it’s 500 miles from Fairbanks to the nearest significant population centers—Prudhoe Bay to the north, and Nome to the west. Much of the state has no roads. In fact, Alaska’s state capital, Juneau, can only be accessed by air or water.

Our plan called for flying from Eugene into Fairbanks on Thursday, picking up a rental car, and driving about 30 miles outside of town to A Taste of Alaska Lodge. We were to be there for three nights, then take the Alaska Railroad from Fairbanks to Wasilla, where my friend Lucy lives and works, staying in a hotel for three nights there, and flying out of Anchorage the following Thursday. Getting there isn’t hard: an hour or so flight from Eugene to Seattle followed by a 3 1/2 hour flight to Fairbanks and a change of the clock to an hour earlier. I hadn’t anticipated paying for crash insurance, but when the rental car agent asked me if I wanted extra protection at $30 per day, I agreed. The roads were icy slick, and our rental car didn’t come equipped with snow tires. Environmental concerns prevent Fairbanksans from salting the roads, but they do use gravel. Still, deep drifts of snow on the sides of roads, ditches that you can’t see, and other cars fishtailing can make driving treacherous. Thankfully, we didn’t need to utilize the insurance, but I had a little more peace of mind that we had purchased it.

Miles from nowhere

I wasn’t allowing myself to anticipate too much, but the timing was right for an aurora borealis experience. A waxing crescent moon imparted minimal light to the night sky. We were away from the city lights. And Fairbanks itself is a prime viewing location, being that it is situated at the edge of a ring-shaped region that circles the north magnetic pole, where auroral activity is most common. It also has less cloud cover because of its distance from the ocean.

When I first began making reservations for our trip, I was told that February is among the most difficult months to get reservations for. Charter flights from Japan bring thousands of Japanese visitors to Alaska each winter to see the northern lights. It is considered most auspicious for the Japanese to conceive a child when the northern lights are out. Most of the other lodgers with us were Japanese, and our first night we experienced an unexpected serenade. We were relaxing in our family suite off the dining room when a dozen people started singing American pop songs to piano accompaniment. As the strains of “Sukiyaki” wafted over us, we settled in for our first night in Fairbanks.

I set my alarm four times during the first night at the lodge. Each time I awoke, dressed and poked my head out of the door to check the sky. Nothing. The second night I followed the same routine. At 2 am I heard other lodgers out in the back field. I heard someone say, “Over here!” with an excited tone that I knew meant something was happening in the sky. I quickly bundled up and crunched through the snow to the field. And there they were. Not particularly strong or colorful, but noticeable. After watching in awe for five minutes, I hustled back to the lodge to wake up everyone else. Little James stayed in bed, and Fiona only lasted about 5 minutes in the frigid, ten degrees below zero air, but the rest of us watched until the sky dancing stopped, about 20 minutes later. Clouds and snow moved in the third night, but that 20-minute light show left me satisfied.

Summertime visitors won’t see the northern lights because it is daylight for nearly the entire 24-hour day, but the midnight sun would be worth visiting for. We experienced a nearly normal period of daylight, from 8 am to 5 pm, but the sun didn’t rise above the 10 am position in the sky. We took advantage of the light and drove 60 miles to Chena Hot Springs Resort, where we would finally put our bathing suits to use. On the road to Chena we saw two moose, one female and one bull, fully antlered, running across the road right in front of our car. Another fun moment was seeing a sled pulled by gorgeous huskies running right alongside the road.

There are no nearby towns, so if you stay in the resort’s cabins you can expect to eat all of your meals on-site. They have the US’s northern-most production greenhouse, where they grow lettuce and tomatoes for the lodge restaurant. Chena Hot Springs was discovered in 1905 by surveyors. Today the resort uses the springs’ naturally hot water to generate all its own energy, and the resort offers daily tours of their geothermal heating system.

Activities include dogsled rides, snowmobiling, sightseeing flights, and, what we were there for, a tour of the ice hotel and dips in the outdoor rock-lined natural mineral hot springs, where the water is 165 degrees. Soaking while snow flakes fall on your hair in the steamy air was amazing. Unfortunately, children are not allowed in the lake but they can try the indoor pool, so we all had to take turns staying with the kids.

Inside the Chena ice museum, two champion ice carvers create carvings from 2-ton blocks of ice harvested on-site. Inside the balmy 20-degree building are carvings of animals, jousters on horseback, two beds carved out of ice that are available for rent, a wedding chapel and a bar caved from ice where you can purchase an appletini served in a martini glass carved from ice. The drink must be pre-purchased for $15, and the tour guides are not bartenders, so unless you really like the taste of cheap sour apple schnapps, skip it!

The travel literature gives the impression that the city of North Pole (not the North Pole) is decorated like Christmas all year-round. After making the short drive there, we realized that it is pretty much one building that is a gift shop, that is indeed decorated like Christmas all year-round, complete with Christmas music playing on the sound system. All day. Every day. While that “town” was disappointing, we did enjoy delicious fudge from the candy shop, purchased our gifts for friends back home, and got some Christmas ornaments to give to our family.

Later this day, we made a stop at the Morris Thompson Cultural and Visitors Center, where we viewed exhibits and dioramas relating the culture and lifestyle of the native Athabascans. The University of Fairbanks also has an extensive Museum of the North, but the cultural center admission is free.

The cultural center is about eight miles from a viewing area of the Trans-Alaska Pipeline, which carries oil 800 miles from Prudhoe Bay in the north to Valdez in the south. Though all of us felt remorse for the knowledge that the beautiful landscape we were enjoying was at risk from oil leakage, sabotage or vandalism, we all marveled at the great feat of engineering.

Oil was discovered in Prudhoe Bay in 1968, after the 1973 oil crisis in the United States spurred greater exploration. The pipeline is 48-inches in diameter and conveys oil across three mountain ranges, through difficult, isolated terrain, and is above ground in several places to avoid permafrost. We learned from the cultural center that the use of oil was not a modern activity. There is so much oil in that area that several natural seeps permeate the ground. The Iñupiat people on the North Slope of Alaska harvested this oil-soaked peat and had used it for fuel and heat for thousands of years.

We also made a stop at Silver Gulch Brewery, America’s Northern-most brewery.

When it came time to leave Fairbanks, no one wanted to go. But anticipation of the 300-mile train ride past mountains, glaciers and frozen rivers got us moving. Though the Alaskan winter usually hides most wildlife, we did catch a glimpse of four caribou running across a frozen lake. The train stopped a couple of times in remote locations to let on some mushers and their dogs. The route skirts the eastern edge of Denali National Park, home of the highest mountain in North America, 20,320-foot tall Mount McKinley (Denali means “the high one” or “the great one” in the native Athabascan language). Clouds obscured our view, but there was plenty of other dramatic landscape to keep us entranced. Though Fiona slept through much of it, Lucy, James and I enjoyed a rousing couple of hours of Pass the Pigs while snacking on cheese, crackers and bread that we had purchased at the Fairbanks Fred Meyer.

Down south

Wasilla is home to about 10,000 people. Our hotel was on the shores of 350-acre Lake Lucille, which in the summertime is a bustling place for swimming, boating, fishing or docking boatplanes.

The Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race Headquarters are very near Lake Lucille. The 1,100 mile race to Nome has its ceremonial start in Anchorage the first Saturday in March. The race’s actual start was historically in Wasilla, though because of snow conditions it has been moved to the neighboring town of Willow.

Our first full day in Wasilla, we took a drive down the Glenn Highway National Scenic Byway to Glacier View, Alaska. There we saw amazing views of the Matanuska Glacier, a 26-mile long (or so) valley glacier that feeds the Matanuska River. On Tuesday, we drove along the Turnagain Arm of Cook Inlet, where beluga whales can sometimes be seen at their namesake Beluga Point. Though we didn’t see any marine life, we did see several clusters of Dall sheep that traverse the rocky outcroppings to browse alongside the highway. By this point in the trip, Fiona no longer wanted to venture far from the warmth of the car or hotel room, so she peered at the sheep through the window. And it was at this point in the trip that I realized our mistake of not packing sunglasses! The sun’s glare on bright white, fresh snow was blinding!

Next, we drove through snow into the little ski-bum town of Girdwood. Skiers and snowboarders take to the slopes of the mountain year-round. We fueled up with French onion soup and grilled cheeses at a Girdwood restaurant called The Bake Shop, and watched the skiers and snowboarders heading up and down Mt. Alyeska (Alyeska was the native Aleutian name for this “great land.”)

On our final day in Alaska, we drove to Anchorage and went to the Alaska Zoo. The stash of hand warmers I had packed for us really paid off this day, as we all stuffed them into our pockets as we walked around in the 10 degree or so air. Most of the animals at the zoo are orphaned or injured animals that can’t survive in the wild due to various injuries.

Heading home was bittersweet. Now, having gone to Alaska, we all want to go back again. Some of us, like my husband, would be happy to take that same trip again in the wintertime. Fiona and James would like to go back in summertime and see the abundant wildflowers and wildlife. Me, I’m already plotting how to get from here to Barrow, the northernmost city in Alaska, above the Arctic Circle. There’s plenty of daylight for exploring . . . when the sun rises in Barrow on May 10, it doesn’t set again for three months.