The long road to Alaska, a story of letting go and discovering - from Haines Junction to Valdez
Among alpine flowers and gravel roads: a journey through the heart of the Yukon and southern Alaska.
In this fifth part of the Alaska series, we travel from Haines Junction via Kluane National Park to Valdez. Along the way, we encounter grizzly bears, see glaciers melting and discover what it feels like to be truly far away – on roads that make you dream and shake you awake.
From Haines Junction to Kluane – Mountains, wind and silence
We left Haines Junction, a small village which serves as the gateway to Kluane National Park. It was striking how quickly the campsite emptied – travellers pass through here, but rarely stay. For us, the park was not the place to spend days hiking: the trails are long and rugged, and besides, we had other plans. Nevertheless, we enjoyed the ever-changing landscape. Snow-capped mountain peaks and glacial lakes and rivers succeeded one another as the road wound along the edge of the park.
The further we drove, the barer and rougher the landscape became. The mountains of Kluane and Wrangell-St. Elias block storms from the Pacific Ocean, resulting in less precipitation. This makes the vegetation vulnerable to icy winds. At Sheep Mountain, alongside the Alaska Highway, we witnessed the transformation of the landscape from lush greenery to an almost alpine emptiness. Dall sheep live here, visible with good binoculars or through the telescopes at the visitor centre.
We stopped at Burwash Landing for lunch and visited the local museum. Outside, wildflowers bloomed in a kaleidoscope of colours. While Didier took photos, the children made a bouquet. It was a tranquil moment in which Alaska revealed itself once again in all its simplicity: wind, mountains, flowers and silence.
The road to Beaver Creek – Dips, undulations and an RV that holds up
The drive to Beaver Creek was anything but smooth. The Alaska Highway wound its way through the landscape, and the road itself sometimes resembled a rollercoaster. Potholes, subsidence and unexpected undulations made driving tiring. At one point, Didier missed a warning sign and we thundered over a section of road that made it feel as though the RV was going to fall apart. We looked at each other in disbelief. Then we drove on a little slower.
En route, we stopped at Burlbilly Hill, a woodworking workshop where the owner carves bowls and candlesticks from 'burls' – wood deformations caused by bacteria. His wife, who was originally from Aachen, told us that she had been living in the Yukon for ten years and loved the simple life. Despite having only one tooth left in her lower jaw, her smile was disarming.
We saw a moose cow with her calf by the roadside. The calf immediately disappeared into the bushes, shy and wild. This was in contrast to the moose in Ontario's Algonquin Park, which are used to people. Here, everything was truly wild. The 300 kilometres felt like 600, but we finally arrived in Beaver Creek, tired but satisfied.
It was 9.45pm and the sun was still high in the sky, which is a surreal feeling you only experience at high latitudes. Alessio and I kicked a ball across the dry grass as if it were a normal summer's day. But there was nothing usual about it, as even this late in the evening, we needed sunglasses to see the ball properly.
Border crossing and Glennallen – No 911, but help on the way
The next day, we crossed the border into Alaska. The 30-kilometre stretch of road between the Canadian and American customs posts was a kind of no man's land, quiet and serene. We saw a young moose in a pool, but unfortunately it was too far away for us to take a good photo. The American customs officer was strict, but everything went smoothly.
The road to Glennallen was tough. We drove along the Tok Cutoff, a route severely damaged by a 7.9-magnitude earthquake in 2002. In some places, the road resembled a washboard, with undulating asphalt and deep potholes. Then, just ahead of us, a motorcyclist and his passenger lost control of their bike and fell. The woman was sitting on the road, shaken and injured. There was no mobile phone reception and no emergency services nearby. We helped them to their feet, gathered their belongings and sent someone to a nearby service station for help. Eventually, they were able to catch their breath there. They were from Maryland, and the man told us that the entire trip had gone wrong, with rain, a broken-down motorbike and more setbacks. It was a moment of connection, and a realisation of how vulnerable you are in this vast wilderness.
The road to Valdez – Glaciers, oil and a room with a view
We woke up to a bright blue sky and set off early for Valdez. However, we soon encountered a problem: not a single petrol station was open on the way to Copper Centre. Although Didier tried to reassure me, I could already picture us cycling through the Chugach Mountains and over Thompson Pass, a prospect which I began to plot on the map. Fortunately, after fifteen miles, we found a petrol station, and Didier said dryly, 'Chill and live in the moment.' He was right – as ever.
En route, we caught our first glimpse of the Alaska Pipeline, an icon of the 1970s. Built between 1975 and 1977, it brought an economic boom during the 'pipeline days'. Starting in Prudhoe Bay on the Arctic Ocean, the route winds through wilderness and mountain ranges to Valdez, where the natural slope allows oil to flow into tanks and tankers without the need for pumps.
The closer we got to the Chugach Mountains, the more spectacular the landscape became. We laughed at the bizarre stories behind place names: Chicken got its name because the locals couldn't spell the word 'ptarmigan', while Tok was named after a husky puppy belonging to engineers working on the road. We stopped at the Worthington Glacier. Fog and clouds could not hide its grandeur. Ignoring the 'proceed at your own risk' sign, Didier walked to the edge of the ice. I watched with a mixture of fascination and fear — my typical love-hate relationship with glaciers. While he was taking photos, I learned that glaciers carve out U-shaped valleys, as opposed to the V-shape carved by rivers.
Over Thompson Pass, wildflowers coloured the verges with a palette of pink, yellow and purple. The rain and cold didn't bother us. We stopped at Bridal Veil Falls and saw salmon fishermen along a stream in Keystone Canyon. We looked on enviously at their catch: Copper River salmon were so abundant that you could almost scoop them up with a landing net. Without a licence or equipment, however, this remained just a dream – maybe someday in Australia with my cousin Marc.
Valdez itself was smaller than expected, being just a fishing town and oil village where life is simple. We spoke to a fishmonger whose wife worked at the oil terminal. You used to be able to visit the terminal, but everything has been closed off since 9/11. Paranoia has left its mark even here. We bought two beautiful Copper River salmon fillets and a piece of halibut – fresher than fresh. After a short walk through the town, I realised: Valdez is not a tourist hotspot, but a place for fishermen, workers and travellers looking for the real Alaska.
In the evening, I lost one of my gold earrings, which I had bought in K'san Village. Didier went looking for it and found it in the laundry room, as if it were meant to be. We ate, drank a glass of wine and looked out of the window of our RV. 'Room with a view,' said Didier. And he was right.
Boat trip to Columbia and Meares – Ice, sea otters and a glimpse of a whale
Our boat trip with Stan Stephens Cruises was one of the highlights of our trip. We set off early on a day trip to the Columbia and Meares glaciers, bundled up against the cold. Our boat, the Valdez Spirit, was a modern catamaran with panoramic windows and comfortable seating. The weather was perfect, the crew were friendly and Captain Stan Stephens was a mine of information about Alaska's nature and history.
As we passed through the Valdez Narrows, we soon spotted Steller sea lions and seals. Stan told us about the Columbia Glacier, which was once stable but has been retreating rapidly since 1983. Approaching it is risky due to the presence of calving ice masses and floating icebergs, 90% of which are submerged. As we passed Heather Island, the first icebergs appeared, sparkling blue against the grey sky. Seals were lying with their pups on smaller ice floes. We came within a mile of the glacier and heard the ice creaking as pieces broke off – an impressive sight.
Then we encountered a group of sea otters adorably floating on their backs with their bellies serving as tables for shellfish. Stan explained that adult male otters can weigh up to 45 kilograms and are obsessive about keeping their fur clean to maintain their insulation. Older otters can be recognised by their white heads, while younger ones are completely brown. They were surprisingly tame and stayed close to the boat. Further on, we spotted a black bear with two cubs along the coast.
After enjoying a hot lunch, we set sail for the Meares Glacier, which, unlike the Columbia Glacier, is still growing. We got within half a mile of it and saw ice arms coming down the mountain slopes like frozen waterfalls.
Op de terugweg maakten we een omweg naar Glacier Island, waar we een bultrugwalvis zagen opduiken en zijn staart omhoogslaan bij een diepe duik. Een eindje verder bij Bull Head lag een kolonie Steller-zeeleeuwen – logge reuzen van wel 550 kilo – en tussen hen door dartelden kleurrijke papegaaiduikers. Na een kom clam chowder voeren we Valdez binnen, moe maar voldaan. Het was een dag vol ijs, water en wildlife – een herinnering die Alaska onvergetelijk maakt.
After enjoying a bowl of clam chowder, we sailed into Valdez, feeling tired but satisfied. It was a day full of ice, water and wildlife – a memory that makes Alaska unforgettable.