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Discover wild Alaska: the supersize grandeur of the far north—its glaciers, its mountains, its wildlife—is more accessible than ever

Sunset,  June, 2003  by Steven R. Lorton

Barely a dozen miles out of Anchorage, the electric sense impending adventure hits. My wife, Anna Lou, and I are driving along he edge of Turnagain Arm, where great jagged peaks capped with ice cut into the deep blue sky across the inlet. The air is chilly arid clean and smells faintly of cedar.

In a land where the summer sun hardly sets and distances are better measured in travel time than miles, outside perceptions are easily challenged. Alaska certainly is big, yet a trip here can be easily managed and affordable. Some of the state's most dramatic scenery, including Kenai Fjords and Mt. McKinley, is on our 10-day, 878-mile driving itinerary.

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This vast subcontinent that bums into the imagination doesn't wait long to reveal itself. Our first stop of a moose.

Anchorage to Seward

We see this particular moose from the boardwalk at the Anchorage Coastal Wildlife Refuge.

After logging a few more miles along Turn-again Arm, we pull over to break out the binoculars again. The blurry spots of white out on the water turn out to be beluga whales, and we watch as they cruise the receding tide.

With the number of times we stop to sightsee, we're lucky it's only 60 miles to the coastal-mountain resort town of Girdwood. Built around a ski area tucked into a stunning glacial valley, Girdwood is the kind of low-key town that makes us think of moving here.

At Alyeska Resort, an aerial tramway climbs 2,028 feet up to hiking trails and a top-of-the-world view stretching back down the valley to Turnagain Arm. There we stand, encircled by snowy mountains and counting seven blue-iced glaciers wedged between peaks.

Later, the cacophony around the bar at the Double Musky is nearly deafening. Locals flock here because the restaurant's smallest steak weighs in at a pound. But it isn't the beef that draws us, it's the heavenly halibut ceviche and house specialties such as etouffee and crawfish pie. The menu makes sense when you meet Bob Persons, who moved here from Alabama with wife Deanna and opened the restaurant in 1979. The adventuresome food complements the local lifestyle.

The sun's still up when we climb into bed at 10, and it's up when we rise at 6 the next morning to head south to Seward and catch a boat tour of Kenal Fjords National Park.. This overlooked park is a don't-miss experience. Even when the clouds are low and occasionally spitting rain, the steep-walled inlets Where grumbling glaciers plow into the ocean are spectacular. In places, the boat gets so close to the rocky cliffs that we expect to hear an agonizing scrape. Sea otters are everywhere.

Heading back to Seward, I notice that my tongue is still tingling from the glacier ice the crew brought aboard for us to taste. Exhilarated and exhausted, I turn in for the night.

Seward to Gakona

2 Days 293 Miles

The brisk air that comes off the water at Whittier is redolent of salt water, creosote, and fish. As the E. L. Bartlett pulls from the dock with our car safely aboard, we see hundreds of fishing vessels in the harbor. Thousands of seagulls flap into flight, squawking and swooping as they escort the boat away from the second-largest rookery on Prince William Sound.

Captain John Kiabo brings the ferry close to shore at Bull's Head Point, where hundreds of barking sea lions lollygag in the sun, some nursing month-old pups. We take cups of coffee onto the deck to view humpback whales and pods of orcas. The ferry pauses only when it passes the Columbia Glacier. As we watch, the distant, towering wall of ice groans; then, with a horrendous splitting sound, an enormous vertical slice of ice pulls away and crashes into the sea.

The ferry revs back to life and later passes Bligh Reef, where the Exxon Valdez ran aground in 1989, spilling 11 million gallons of oil into the sound.

Driving off the ferry, we bead into Valdez--rebuilt after it was hit by a tidal wave caused by the 1964 Good Friday Earthquake. It's now the terminus of the 800-mile Trans-Alaska Pipeline and portal into the vast, unpopulated Alaskan interior.

Heading north on Richardson Highway (State 4), we speculate about how little Alaska has changed in the last century. This road is so lightly traveled that, while paved, it's dusty where we pass the massive ice falls of the Worthington Glacier State Recreation Site. About 65 miles north of Valdez, we pull over at Pump Station 12 for a good view of the pipeline, which slips silently through the brush like a metallic anaconda.

While there are the scruffy basics of a town at Glennallen, places like Gakona and Copper Center are barely villages. To the east are the peaks of the Wrangell-St. Elias National Park & Preserve, some topping 14,000 feet. These stops are among the last places in the state where you'll find a doorway into the early days of the Alaska frontier: the roadhouse.

A rambling collection of old log buildings put together with wood dowels, the Gakona Lodge and Trading Post dates back to 1904 and is listed on the National Register of Historic Places. Barbara Strang greets us with a welcoming Alaska smile.