Comfortably on the road in good time, not held up at the train crossing, not held up by traffic lights, we share our satisfaction for a pleasant ride. That all comes to a halt half way there on the Willow Creak Bridge. Signs of summer in Alaska. A long line of stopped cars signal road construction and I can see a yellow-cladded road worker up ahead. As we sit waiting for the pilot car to show up and lead everyone through the construction zone we suddenly start rocking from side to side. Dan and I look at each other and simultaneously say ”earthquake.” Doors open and passengers exit vehicles up and down the road. A young man in the truck in front of us is anxiously checking his tires. He’s loaded down with packages of insulation, probably building a cabin somewhere. Dan laughs, rolls down the window and says “earthquake”. The truck driver throws his hands up and laughs. “Oh good “ he says, “ I thought it was my suspension. I have a heavy load.” Everything is relative. The tourists in front of him also heard Dan and have those bemused grins on their faces. They’ve just had an Alaskan experience: an earthquake without side effects. They happen all the time.
Finally the pilot car shows up and we’re moving, only now we’re late. Instead of the anticipated leisurely drive we’re now facing a repeat of our winter blizzard road trip experience where we were trying to make up lost time so we didn’t miss the train. And then we look at each other and say “summer”, again simultaneously. We can relax. For one thing , no icy roads or white out conditions. Then there is the Alaska railroad and its very strange practice in summer. The local train leaves the station at 12:15 only to back up to the new tourist depot to pick up tourists. Why we can’t all get on at the same station platform is a secret known only to the Alaska Railroad. After the train backs up and picks up the tourists it has to go forward and pass the local station again. So if you miss the first boarding you can always get it on the return. That gives us about a fifteen to 20 minute cushion.
As it turns out we make the first boarding because a large number of passengers with packs and boxes lining the platform have slowed down the loading. Among them rafters loading their rafts. A rafting guide is taking them all about 10 miles up river by train where they will launch there rafts and float back to Talkeetna. No rapids on the river make It an easy, pleasant day trip if you don’t mind the uncomfortable clothing. The rafters stand out in their bright yellow life vests and heavy cover suits and boots meant to keep them dry. The guide wears only shorts, tevas and a tee shirt on this summery warm day. Also among the passengers, an old friend. We don’t often see him because,
since he built his cabin 5 miles from the train at the 2000 ‘ level walking in means a 4 hour hike. So he prefers to fly in. Today he decided to walk and we are happy to see him and catch up on goings on. He isn’t happy with Talkeetna. Calls it Disney Land. I think about our pulling into town and having to thread our way through hoards of tourists walking down the middle of the road and think Disney Land is a good description. Nice for the tourist business. Not so nice for locals.
As we unload our packs and cooler at our trailhead the conductor asks us if we have everything. He looks puzzled. He’s use to lots of bags and boxes. After a lunch Dan calls “substantial”, meaty sandwiches and peaches, we head off to get supper. We wend our way down to the river through devils club and ferns and then step carefully through the maze of alders and cotton wood trunks lying crisscross on the ground, washed down by winter river ice. We come out on the small gravelly beach at the head of the creek where it spills into river. It’s a beautiful summer day with occasional white cotton-ball fluffy clouds emphasizing the blue sky. Some ducks fly by skimming over the surface of the water. Dan readies the poles and lures while I search for bear tracks. I know they’re around here somewhere.
The Susitna River is full of good fish. Grayling, dollies and rainbow trout. Even as I write that the voice of an old Athabascan friend is ringing in my ears, “Don’t tell anybody”. It’s tricky to catch them because the river is full of glacial silt. Fish can’t see the lures so you need to place the lures where the creek makes a small clear water stream as it runs into the river and along the shore. Fish that hang out on the edge of the silty water can see lures floating along where it’s clear. Dan keeps telling me to let the lure float along the edge of the clear water. Easy to say. Easy for him. Still I’m the first one to hook a fish and only on my third cast. I’m so startled by this I jerk the pole to set the hook without setting the bale and wind up with my line running out. For some unfathomable reason I then grab hold of the line with my hand instead of reeling it in. Now still holding the line I drop the pole and try to flip the fish on shore. This almost works but the end of the line with the fish still attached falls short of the beach and ends up snagged between two rocks. I drop the pole bent on grabbing that fish with my two hands only to watch it casually swim away just as I splash into the water. Dan looks at me in wonderment and asks why I didn’t just reel it in. I’m wondering that myself. I’m just thankful reality TV isn’t lurking in the bushes.
“I know there’s a tank in there” Dan’s word for a big fat trout. He starts at one end of the beach systematically casting as he moves along the shore. Sure enough, in comes a 20 inch rainbow, a keeper. Dinner will be a feast. I’m hoping to find fiddle heads to stir fry as we walk up the trail.
Dan cuts a willow branch to carry the fish and we head back to the trail through bear country carrying the ultimate bear bait, fresh fish. I let Dan carry the fish. He has the gun.
I think there is truth to the adage that the hungrier you are the better the food tastes.
Because of the thick brush our hike in took a good two hours so it was well passed 8 when we finally ate. Dan had filleted the fish, breaded it with corn flower and pan-fried it in bacon fat. Even though we have had our fish that way many times I kept thinking it was the best fish I ever ate.
We spent two glorious summer days just relaxing, soaking in the beauty, sunning in the breeze on the bridge, listening to birds. Unlike the stillness of winter, summer is full of perky sounds. The rush of the water in the creek, the trilling of a water ouzel, the scolding of a squirrel who isn’t pleased with our intrusion in his territory.
