Bill Menke’s Journal, 2009 Alaska Trip, October 14 through November 5, 2009.

October 15, 2009 (my fifty-fifth birthday). Fairbanks, Alaska. I’m working at the Geophysical Institute (GI) of the University of Alaska, Fairbanks with Mike West, a former Lamonter who is now a professor there. And I’m staying with Bernie Coakley, another former Lamonter who is now Chair of the Department of Geology and Geophysics at his house on the northern outskirts of the city. I take a morning walk from the GI, out into the woods adjacent to the University. The temperature is in the low 20’s Fahrenheit and the sky is clear and glowing orange in the east, though the sun is not yet up. I walk past groves of birch trees and black spruce trees, down to a large field, called the potato field. The vegetation in the field, brown and yellow and gone to seed, is covered with heavy frost. I can see the sun lighting up the top of a nearby hill. As I walk around the field, it gradually lights up more. 0:30.

Smith Lake. In the afternoon, I walk the trails near the GI, down to a large pond, Smith Lake. Its surface is frozen. Its shores are lined with black spruce, extremely narrow evergreen trees that reach height of fifty feet or so but which are typically shorter. I like these spruce trees. Their shape is strikingly different from any of the trees we have in New York. I walk along the shore of the lake for a while and also visit several small, frozen wetlands. 0:30.

October 16, 2009. Fairbanks, Alaska. In the morning, before sunrise, I walk a woods road, first westward from the FI and then back eastward. The sky has more clouds than yesterday and they are glowing with the pink of sunrise. I pass a large satellite antenna in a clearing in the woods. 0:30

October 17-18, 2009. Hike to Granite Tors in Chena River State Recreation Area. I arrive at the trailhead, at milepost 39.5 along Chena Hot Spring Road, at about 9AM. The light is still pretty feeble, for the sun rises late this time of year. I pay my five dollar per day parking fee, don my backpack, and head off. The trailhead is along the Chena River near a granite quarry that I suppose was used to provide road fill. The river is broad and steadily flowing, with a wide gravel point bar near where it is crossed by the highway bridge. I take the East segment if the trail, which is said to be easier, leaving the West half of the loop for tomorrow’s way back. I pass Rock Creek, a small stream with beaver dams and ponds. The trail loops around the Rock Creek watershed, but high up near the divide, so I expect to see little of the creek on my hike. The trail gradually ascends through groves of birch and black spruce. Much of the woods have been damaged by fire. Patches of trees are dead. Some trees are still standing but without branches. The ground is in places tangled with deadfall, though the trail itself has been cleared. The morning is overcast, but I keep my eye on a thin line of clear sky on the northern horizon, hoping that it will expand. Once on the ridge I can see the neighboring hills. Some to the north, across the Chena River, are draped with patches of fog. Fortunately, the hills by the trail are all clear. I can see several of the Granite Tors, large towers of rock poking up from the otherwise smooth profile of the mountain, on the hills to the southwest. The trail slowly works its way upward. I begin to pass patches of snow. I am glad of these patches, for the represent a supply of water. In a couple of hours I arrive at a trail junction with the North Tor Spur. The sky has cleared significantly and the nearest Tor is lit up by the sun and very tempting, I take the spur trail across a hummocky alpine terrain of grasses, low bushes and talus. The trail is pretty disused and hard to follow. I lose it in places and wind up just bushwhacking along a ridge contour, heading straight towards the Tor. I have to cross a hundred yard wide grove of spruce woods, which proves problematical, because of all the deadfall. I do a lot of detouring around tree trunks and scrambling over them and eventually reach the other side of the grove. The Tor is just a little further beyond. It is actually a set of several towers, the large stack-like one that I could see from the distance and two smaller ones, including a ten foot high rock finger. I find a sunny spot and have lunch, GaitorAide and sausage. The view to the north is very nice. I can see rolling hills cut by streams. I cannot yet see southward. The hilltop has many more Tors scattered about. After lunch, I bushwhack back, struggling again through the spruce grove. I see several birds, including a flock of brown sharp tailed grouse and white ptarmigan. The grouse explode out of the bushes as I approach with a flutter of wings and alight atop of spruce trees. The ptarmigan are less jumpy. They merely walk away from my immediate vicinity. I intersect the main trail a little uphill of where I left it. Continuing along, I meet a group of four hikers, coming down the trail. One addresses me by name, which surprises me. After all, I know fewer than ten people in all of Alaska. He is Glen, one of Mike West’s colleagues, who I had met the day before at the GI. A little further on, the trail winds through an undamaged spruce grove full of large trees beautifully lit by the late afternoon sun. The mountaineering shelter is just beyond the spruce grove at the edge of a wide alpine meadow. It is a tiny fully-enclosed one-room cottage, with a wood stove and bench inside and a sagging wooden deck outside (N64 51.420 W146 12.161). It has a large south-facing window glazed with Plexiglas and has been warmed a little by the sun. I can see a row of large Tors across the meadow and decide to visit them. I leave my pack in the shelter and hike over to them. This proves harder than I had hoped, owing to the difficulty of walking on the hummocky terrain. I keep to patches of snow as much as I can. Eventually I arrive at the nearest Tor. It is a large stone “castle”, perhaps fifty feet high, composed of blocks of granite that are smooth on a small scale but rather angular when viewed from afar. It has numerous crevices and overhangs. I circle around it, admiring its form, and then head back to the shelter. I set up my tent, a NorthFace Starlite, nearby the shelter, having to hunt around for a section of ground that is smooth enough. I then cook dinner, Macaroni and Cheese with tuna fish. I melt quite a bit of snow with my MSR WhisperLite Stove, each brick-sized block reducing down to just an inch or so of water in my kettle. I watch the sun set, right over a group of Tors on a hilltop to my west, as I eat. I save some of the mac and cheese for breakfast, tidy up, and then move into my tent. I am wearing my NorthFace Himalaya down mountaineering suit, and am not cold, though the temperature falls to about 15 degrees Fahrenheit, and creeps even lower during the night. The night is quiet and uneventful. I arise once to see stars shining through thin haze. About eight hours of hiking today.

October 18, 2009. Granite Tors, day two. I arise about 7:30AM, with the eastern sky just starting to glow with dawn. I wear my headlight as I start up the MSR stove and melt more snow. I prepare three liters, one for breakfast and two for the trail. I reheat the mac and cheese, supplementing it with sausage, and wash it down with instant coffee. I pack up, brushing a layer of frost off if the tent fly, and head off. I take the western route today, through the Plain of Monuments, passing many Tor of a great variety of shapes. Some are tall spurs, some stocky, some with shapes suggestive of faces or animals. The trail is well-worn, marked with an occasional reflective green marker, and is easy to follow. The sun is slowly climbing into the sky, but while the distant hills are lit up, my own hill is first under a cloud. Looking south, I can see the tall peaks of the Alaska Range on the horizon. The trail slowly circles around to the north, ascending and descending small topographic highs along the ridge crest, and passing several substantial Tors. One, at the end of a beautiful spruce grove, is particularly impressive. About this time I am passed by a group of four trail runners, who I suppose have run up the western trail from the road. It is an impressive feat, for the sun has been up for only two hours and already they have come six miles up a very steep grade. I then begin a long – and in places steep – downgrade, mostly through groves of burned out spruce. One northern slope has a fair amount of snow and is tricky to navigate, though not truly dangerous. Many of the trees here have burls which predate the fire, which surprises me, for I think of them as tumors, yet the environment here is very clean. My feet are beginning to get sore. I am wearing Sorel snow boots, which do not do well on long downgrades, for they are loose-fitting. My feet tend to slide around in them. I pass several other groups of hikers coming up the trail. Finally, I reach the valley floor, just south of where a large tributary, coming in from the west, joins Rock Creek. The creeks, though ice-covered in places, are still flowing strongly. I cross the tributary via a wooden foot bridge. I then follow puncheon (bog bridges) along the western bank of Rock Creek and through spruce woods, back to the trailhead. I see numerous signs of beaver along the creek, including a dam. I reach the car at 2PM. Five hours of hiking today.

Overall, 15 miles to do the loop, plus four miles of side trails, totaling 19 miles on 13 hours (including rest stops).

I drive the rest of Chena Hot Spring Road, admiring the views along the Chena River. I arrive at the Spa at the end, pay my ten dollar admission, and relax in the outdoor rock pool of the hot spring. By the time I leave, the sun has sunk below the level of the hills and much of the area is in shadow.

October 21, 2009. Ballaine Lake, Fairbanks. After lunch, I park at the trailhead on the east side of campus, off of Farmers Loop Road, just north of Ballaine Lake. The lake is ice-covered. Its sports a small island with a few short spruce trees and is ringed with grasses. I walk a northward loop, about a mile and a half long, that mostly goes through spruce woods. 0:30.

October 22, 2009. Ballaine Lake, Fairbanks. After lunch, I park again by Ballaine Lake and walk a loop through the woods that is somewhat longer than yesterday’s. Part of the trail is along a dirt road. I leads to a shooting range, a large partially roofed over area surrounded by dirt levies. Then the trail became narrower, just a shoe-width rut in the moss of the forest floor. It is tricky to walk! The sun is shining brightly and lighting up the spruce trees beautifully. 1:00.

October 23, 2009. In the late morning, Mike West, his sons Ezra and Eli, and I had a picnic on Murphy Dome, one of the hills north of Fairbanks. We drive to the summit and parked near a radar installation that sported a large dome. From there, we walk about 0.7 miles, first along a dirt road and then across an area of alpine vegetation, to a large rock outcrop (N64 57.452 W148 21.817). This is our picnic spot. The rock outcrop – a phyllite – is about ten feet tall and can be scaled by walking up a large crevice or slot. The kids climb all over it, of course. One smaller crevice has been turned into sort of a shelter through the addition of a low rock wall. Ezra sits in it. I set up my tent and fire up the MSR stove and cook lunch. I make macaroni and cheese, hot dogs and hot chocolate. Afterward, we walk around the area, visiting a smaller rock outcrop further downhill. The kids find a small sloping snow field and have fun sliding on it. The early afternoon has been overcast, but towards the end of the day the sun begins to shine, lighting up the rocks nicely. We stay until sunset and then walk back to the car. The dirt road has several icy spots caused by a spring emptying out into the road and making a small frozen stream. The sunset is very dramatic with glowing clouds of many shapes and textures. About four hours.

October 24, 2009. Kayaking on the Chena River, Fairbanks. The day is very clear. Mike West lends me his kayak, a yellow plastic boat with fairly sleek lines, and helps me launch it on the Chena River at a spot fairly close to where it empties into the Tanana River, at a launch by The Pump House (N64 49.849 W147 53.122). I paddle upstream, towards the center of town. The river is flowing fairly briskly and has a bit of ice along its banks. My wake cracks the ice as I paddle along, and if I stop the crackling approaches and then overtakes me. The river here is in a suburban neighborhood, with houses along its banks, well-separated and often with woods in between. The Chena is shallow here, usually three or four feet deep, but I sometimes scrape bottom on a bar. I pass the stern wheeler Discovery, which is moored at a dock. It is some sort of tour boat, but laid up now for the winter. The river meanders back and forth, and I am forever switching sides to avoid shallow point bars. I sight a few birds, mostly ravens and mallard ducks. I pass some sort of amusement park with a steam locomotive. Unlike Discovery, it’s in use today. I can hear its loud whistle for a mile or more in each direction. Signs of beaver are everywhere. I pass three substantial lodges and one snag of branches that looks like an attempt to make a dam. Paddling is tough in places, for on occasion I have to fight a rather strong current. Eventually, I come to the downtown area, which is more built up, with a few rectangular multistory buildings and a bridge sporting a row of decorative flags. I take out a little further upstream, at Graehl Park (N64 50.762 W147 42.404). Mike picks me up a little later. About three hours. My ninety-fifth kayak of the year.

October 25, 2009. Hike up Wickersham Dome. I park at the Summit Trailhead at milepost 28 of the Elliott Highway (Route 2), north of Fox, Alaska (N65 10.702 W148 04.567). The morning, at 11AM, is clear with a temperature of 15 degrees Fahrenheit. The summit trail is a wide, well-maintained foot path that head sup through low spruce woods to a treeless know, then down again through more substantial woods before ascending the dome proper. A little snow is on the trail, and is heaviest on the northern side of the hill under the trees. The grade of the trail is fairly gentle. I am able to walk at a brisk pace. Once out of the woods, up on the side of the dome, I can see both the neighboring hills, rolling and wooded and jagged snow-covered mountains on the horizon. Once above tree line, I find that the crusty snow has collected in the trail. It is only marginally easier to crunch through that the alpine vegetation on either side. I follow the Summit Trail as far as a large rock outcrop with a cairn on top (N65 13.239 W148 03.036). I climb up this outcrop. It affords a very nice view to the northeast but is quite windy. I then descend to its base and find a sheltered but sunny spot for lunch. I cook Spanish rice on my MSR stove and drink GaitorAide. I then bushwhack across the alpine vegetation to the summit area, which sports a large communication tower. This area affords a very nice view to the west. No path leads to this installation. I suppose that it must be serviced via helicopter. I then return to the Summit Trail and retrace my route. I notice a wide variety of animal tracks in the snow. Moose I recognize, but I see many small mammal tracks that I cannot identify. About four hours.

October 27, 2009. Snow has been falling for the last day or so, but very lightly, so that the accumulation is barely four inches. At lunch, I walk downhill from the GI, first along a woods road and then across a field that is part of the Experimental Farm. I pass several pens of reindeer but the fields themselves are empty. I walk to Lulu’s Bread and Bagels, at the intersection of the Parks Highway and Geist Road, and stop there for a bagel and coffee. I then walk back, following a power line right-of-way, instead of the road through the farm. The last quarter mile up to the GI is through a steep, grassy slope. 1:00.

October 28, 2009. Woods by the GI, Fairbanks. In the late afternoon, I walk through the woods north of the GI. Another inch or so of snow has fallen, bringing the total on the ground to about five. The trail winds through the spruce woods. The woods roads have now been groomed for cross-country skiing. 0:20.

October 29, 2009. Smith Lake, Fairbanks. The morning is very clear. I walk from the GI to Smith Lake, making my way on the extreme edge of the paths so as not to disturb the ski trails. The lake is well-frozen and snow-covered. A ski loop has been cut into the snow along its circumference. The trees on the north side of the lake are in sunlight, but those on the south side and most of the lake surface, as well, is in shadow. I walk the circumference of the lake, admiring the snow-covered spruce trees, especially the ones lit up by the morning sun. I cross the potato field on the way back. 1:00.

Tanana River, Fairbanks. At lunch, I drive to a small park on Chena Pump Road that is on the bank of the Tanana River. I walk along the river bank, southward, first along a flat area, then across a wash, and then beneath a high ridge with rocky (phyllite) outcrops. I pass moose tracks in the snow, some of which extend out into the ice on the river. The Tanana is a wide braided river with numerous islands. I can see one thickly vegetated one, full of high bushes, directly across from the park. Some of the water is open, and judging from the flow of ice fragments, moving quite quickly. After finishing my walk at the park, I drive up onto the ridge, stopping twice at viewpoints where I can see the river valley. 0:45.

Experimental Farm, Fairbanks. In the late afternoon, I walk from the GI down to the Experimental Farm, where I watch the reindeer for a few minutes. They noticed me standing at the side of their pen and strolled over curiously and without any sign of aggression. On the way back, I stop and examine a road cut, adjacent to the GI, through five or six feet of fine-grained material that I suppose is loess. Several long roots of spruce are exposed. They are one-to-two inches in diameter and extend vertically, with very little branching or tapering, through the entire exposure. 0:30.

October 30, 2009. Large Mammal Facility, Fairbanks. At lunch, I stop at the University’s Large Mammal Facility on Yankovich Road to view the musk oxen. Unfortunately, the facility is closed and the best view that I can find is by walking a trail along the eastern fence, to a point where I can see the herd in a field that is perhaps a quarter-mile away. 0:30.

October 31, 2009. Denali National Park. I drive down from Fairbanks along the Parks Highway (Route 3), leaving after sunrise and enjoying the view of the snow-dusted trees and rolling hills. I stop briefly at the bridge over the Tanana River. It is flowing briskly. A tributary downstream of the bridge is delivering a lot of ice debris. The day is very clear and I enjoy seeing the tall mountains of the Alaska Range as I approach the park.

Riley Creek Campground. I stopped at the Visitors Center, but it was close up. After a bit of a hunt, I finally found a park official, at the Murie Science and Learning Center. He sold me an entrance/camping permit ($20). I set up my tent in Riley Creek Campground – the type where one can drive up to a campsite that has a tent platform and a picnic table (N63 43.882 W148 54.020). I am the only inhabitant. The ground has about four inches of snow. The afternoon temperature is about 10 degrees Fahrenheit. After getting organized, I go on a day hike.

Horseshoe Lake. I first walk the McKinley Station Trail, which is flat and wide and winds its way through spruce woods down to a stream crossed by a substantial railroad bridge. I wind up at the Visitors center, where I switch to the Taiga Trail, which heads gently uphill, in the general direction of the high mountains. I pause at the intersection with the Mt. Healy Overlook Trail. I am tempted to walk up to the overlook, and indeed I do walk a little of the trail, to just past a footbridge, but I judge that the day was too old for me to manage the whole 2.3 miles before darkness, and turn back. Instead, I continue on the Taiga Trail to a railroad crossing, crossed the tracks, and then switched to the Horseshoe Lake Trail. It has an interesting section on a ridge crest that is a little knife edge. I stop for a few minutes at an overlook that commands a fantastic view of the high mountains, which are lit up nicely by the late afternoon sun. One peak has rock spires high up on the skyline. I pass many animal tracks. One mouse trail ends abruptly in the middle of the path, with a set of scuff marks and maybe a hint of claws. I suppose that some predator – an owl maybe – found its prey. Horseshoe Lake is in a deep valley and is edged with yellow grass and black spruce. I take a little side trail that winds along the lakeshore and loops through a spruce grove. I then retrace my steps back to the railroad crossing, where I switch to the Bike Path, which takes me back to Riley Creek Campground. About two and a half hours.

Riley Creek Campground. Back at my tent site, I cook my dinner of rice and instant coffee on the MSR stove. I melt a couple of liters of snow for drinking water. I then walk the deserted campground loop road, admiring the sunset and examining numerous animal tracks in the snow. Back at the tent site, I sit at the picnic table and write in this journal. I have to keep putting the pen in my mouth to get it to work. I hear owls hooting, off in the distance. The moon is up, though in a haze.

November 1, 2009. Riley Creek Campground. The night is very cold. I sleep in the NorthFace Starlite tent, in my heavy Mountain Hardware down sleeping bag and wearing my down mountaineering suit. I am not cold, yet neither am I hot and sweaty, which I would be in just a few minutes, having donned all that insulation while at room temperature. I stay in the bag until about 9AM, when the sky was starting to glow but the sun was not yet up. I check the little thermometer on my backpack. It is well below the lowest mark, minus twenty Fahrenheit, so I judge that the temperature to be about minus thirty. I fire up the MSR stove and make a breakfast of rice and coffee. I also spend quite a lot of time – and fuel – melting snow for drinking water. The sun begins to rise over the mountaintops at about 10AM. The day is clear and promises to be very beautiful. I discover that I have camped in a site reserved for the handicapped, so I move the car, tent and cooking gear to a neighboring campsite. The car engine cranks for a long time, but finally starts.

Mt Healy Overlook Trail. After tidying up, I take a day hike on the Mr. Healy Overlook Trail. I walk first on the Bike Trail and the Taiga Trail to reach the Mt. Healy Overlook Trailhead. The trail starts gently but gradually steepens. The spruce trees gradually thin and give way to bushes and grass. The views, especially of the mountains to the southeast, become very good. These distant mountains are entirely white and are very angular – diamond-like – in profile. I can see a large rock outcrop above me. I hope that the trail leads there, as indeed it does, though not before becoming fairly steep and windy. It is never especially difficult, even with four inches of snow, but is steadily exerting. The last section switches up a bare scree slope and requires some care, for a slip, however unlikely, would be difficult to arrest. The trail leads to a flat area at the top of the rock outcrop (N63 44.576 W148 57.247). This is the beginning of a wide alpine area that includes many topographic highs, one of which I suppose to be the summit (though I can’t discern which). I rest at the overlook and drink GaitorAide. I think that the other highs can be reached easily from this point, but I don’t try to go any further. The afternoon is growing late. I walk down, enjoying the views of the neighboring mountains. I note many glacial features, such as cirques and arrets. I see a Red Squirrel and two Northern Hawk Owls. I stopped by the Murie Science and Learning Center and chatted with the park official there (the same person who sold me the ticket, yesterday). I also refilled my water bottles from the sink in the bathroom. It’s a much more convenient source of water than melted snow! I then walked the Bike Path back to my campsite. About four hours.

Riley Creek Campground. I cook dinner of Macaroni and Cheese with tuna fish, washed down with both hot chocolate and coffee. The temperature has dropped to zero degrees Fahrenheit, from a high of about ten degrees midday, and I expect it to drop much further during the night. I start the car in order to exercise the engine. I am writing the journal in the car so that the ink flows.

November 2, 2009. Riley Creek Campground. The night is cold and clear and the temperature when I wake up is again about minus thirty Fahrenheit. I walk the campground loop road, in my mountaineering suit, to get the blood flowing. It’s 8AM, too early for any sign of the sun. I reheat the left over mac and cheese and make coffee. I also melt enough snow for two liters of drinking water – quite a time-consuming process! I then switched to my fleece jacket and began a day hike.

Rock Creek Trail. I walked the Bike Path to the Roadside Trail and then switched to the Meadow View Trail. It is cut in the side of a ridge and affords a nice view of the valley to the south. They valley contains a large meadow. It’s on the north side of a hill and already is in winter-long shadow. I spot two snowshoe hares, which are white in color and about twice the size of the rabbits that I commonly encounter in New York. The snow-covered trail is crossed by many animal tracks. I can identify rabbit and squirrel, but I spot many others made by small mammals that I cannot identify. I then walk to the intersection of the Rock Creek Trail and the Taiga Trail, which takes me in the opposite direction from my main course, but enables me to see all of the Rock Creek Trail. I reverse direction and walk the Rock Creek Trail to its end. It ascends a ridge south of Rock Creek, which is in a deep valley and not readily visible from the trail. The view up to Mt. Healy Overlook is nice. After a bit of careful observation I am able to discern the general path that I took on yesterday’s hike (though I cannot see the trail, itself). The Rock Creek Trail then descends back to the Park Road, where it joins the Roadside Trail. I cross a footbridge over a sizable creek (not the Rock Creek). The creek is running under a veneer of ice. I then visit the Sled Dog Kennels. Several dozen dogs are kept there, each chained to a pole next to a tiny log-cabin style kennel. Most of the dogs were standing atop their kennels and barking very loudly. It made quite a spectacle! I then walked the Roadside Trail back to the Visitors Center, and then the Park Road back to my campsite. I spotted another northern hawk owl, perched atop a spruce tree, on the way. About four hours.

Drive on the Park Road. I then drive my rental car, a Ford Escape SUV, to the end of the open section of the Park Road. I stop at the Murie Science and Learning Center and pick up four liters of drinking water, for dinner and for tomorrow’s needs. The same ranger was on duty as yesterday and the day before, and we exchange greetings. I drive the Park Road slowly, admiring the beautiful scenery of high taiga, alpine tundra and snow-covered mountains. I crossed several washes. These are wide, shallow and snow-covered. The road is open for twelve miles, as far as Savage River. I park briefly at the end of the plowed section of the road and walk around a bit, but the trails there are closed for repair. I then turn the car around and slowly drive back. The sun is getting close to setting and the shadows brought out the jaggedness of the mountains beautifully.

Riley Creek Campground. I write this journal entry back at my campsite, sitting in the car. Afterward, I cook dinner of beef stroganoff, hot chocolate and coffee. The temperature is well below zero.

November 3, 2009. Riley Creek Campground. The night is again very cold, about minus thirty Fahrenheit. I awaken at about 8:30AM, with the sky still dark. I am worried about being able to start the car in this intense cold, but the engine roars to life after only a little bit of cranking. I make breakfast, dry cereal with warm chocolate milk poured over it. I pack up and leave before sunrise.

Drive to Wasilla, Alaska. I spend the day driving south on the Parks Highway, through Denali State Park and finally to Wasilla, Alaska, which is a suburb of Anchorage. The day is overcast with occasional light snow. Views of the boreal forest and wetlands along the road and of the more distant mountains are OK but not great. I hope to see a moose, and look carefully in each wetland that I pass, but I see none. The sun is shining brightly as I arrive in Wasilla. I have nice views of Lucile Lake, a largish lake in town with spectacular mountains behind. After a brief shopping stop in Wasilla, I drive back to Fairbanks. Fairly heavy snow is falling as I cross Denali State Park, but it tapers off as I approach the National Park entrance. The moon is rising in clear skies by the time I reach Healy, lighting up the mountains beautifully.

November 4, 2009. Fairbanks, Alaska. After dropping off my rental car at the airport, I walk back to the GI, a distance of perhaps three mile. The day is overcast with a temperature of 14 degrees Fahrenheit. I find several paths through woods and the Experimental Farm, so that the way seemed more rural than it perhaps actually was. I cross the Chena River via the Parks Highway Bridge (which desperately needs a pedestrian walkway). I stop at Lulu’s Bread and Bagels for lunch.