I meant to get moving early but a night of fitful sleep left me glued to the mattress much later than I intended. It was raining when I finally got out of the hostel, having broken down my 'hovel' and stored my unnecessaries in an employee's room. As I went to leave, a young man from Richmond asked if I were planning to hitch. He'd been in Alaska for 2 months and had hitch-hiked everywhere.
"Yeah. It's the way to do it. Everyone's been great. Not one problem. People want to give you beer or get you stoned."
Truth was, I'd been kicking around the idea of hitching because I'd heard from many that it was the cheapest way to get around and it was still safe in Alaska. Nonetheless, the idea of thumbing in the rain didn't appeal to me, so I headed to the rail depot to find out about catching a train.
My plan was to head to Talkeetna, a tiny little town that was the basis for the town in the TV show "Northern Exposure." As I wouldn't have much time for my sight-seeing, I wanted to pack in as much as possible. Though Alaska is a big place, it can essentially be broken down into two: inland and coastal.
Typically, tourists head to Denali National Park for their inland experience. That was my original choice but when I mentioned it to my co-workers they uniformly scoffed. The DNP was fine, they said, but overrated. The chief attraction of the park is Mt. McKinley (Denali) but due to the monstrous peaks all around it, it is nearly impossible to see from the park. True, the park has wildlife, but everywhere in Alaska has that. No, they recommended I go to Talkeetna. It had the best view of the mountain (if the skies were clear, a huge if considering this is the worst summer here any can remember); it's a good representation of a small Alaskan town (if a bit touristy); and, being in the middle of nowhere, it's got as much wildlife as anywhere. I was won over. Talkeetna it was.
Unfortunately, I'd missed the train for the day, so if I wanted to get to Talkeetna, it would be by hitch-hiking. True, I can appear reckless, but I do try to temper my folly. Four miles and Forty-five dollars later, I was back in the hostel strapping on my .50 cal in its shoulder holster with two (2) seven round magazines of newly purchased hollow-point ammunition. Over all that went my gortex camouflage jacket and 40lbs backpack and I was off.
It was a hike to the highway out of town but I caught my first ride in minutes. Travis was a short bearded pipeline worker with a gigantic mutt (named Scraps) in the SUV. I had the pistol loaded, a round chambered, and the safety off, but I hadn't cocked the hammer. We chatted for a minute or two before he asked me, "Wanna get stoned?"
"Ah. I can't. I'm on scholarship at school and they have a personal conduct requirement stipulation and they piss-test us. I go back in two weeks. I wish you'd gotten hold of me two weeks ago," I politely lied.
"Yeah, that sucks. Figured...when I saw that you were headed to Talkeetna you were headed to the bluegrass festival and had weed on you or you wanted to get stoned."
He dropped me off shortly thereafter, 11 miles out of town. I still wasn't quite far enough out of town yet so it took another five miles of walking til I got picked up again. George,an Anchorage garbage truck driver, picked me up on his way home after a 12-hour day, We chatted pleasantly about the refuse biz for an hour as we barrelled along. We passed through Wasilla and Houston and he dropped me off on the outskirts of Willow, seventy miles away from Anchorage.
Twenty minutes later, a couple in a pick-up truck picked me up. I gamely jumped in the back. There hadn't been any rain since Anchorage but it started to come back down. Fortunately, the air pocket the cab of the truck produced kept me dry even though the bed of the truck was open. They drove me through the storm about 20 miles, and dropped me off in the middle of nowhere.
Within 5 minutes I was rolling along with Alex, a 20yo University of Alaska rising junior on his way to Talkeetna for his summer internship with the state, checking on water balances.
It was nearly dusk when I got into Talkeetna and Alex dropped me off.at the 62 degree Latitude lodge/bar/restaurant. I hadn't eaten since lunch so I went to the bar for a bite to eat and to get the lay of the land. After my Halibut sandwich, I struck up a conversation with a couple from North Pole, AK, but originally from NC. The husband, in his 50s, was a mechanical engineer who'd dragged his wife to Alaska in '82 because he was an avid mountain climber. In Alaska, he'd become a bush pilot and hunting guide. We got to talking about bears.
"With a grizzly, they 'woof' at you first if you're in their territory.
"That means they're sizing you up to see if they can whup your ass. Best to raise your arms over your head. Make yourself as big as possible.
"They start clicking their teeth, that means, 'I'm pretty sure I can whup your ass.' You need to get out of there.
"They start 'pogo-ing' on their front legs; that means get ready, because they're coming."
Finally, I spoke, "Does it do any good to shoot them?"
"Hell, a bear's heart only beats three times a minute. It can take a kill-shot to the heart, run 300 feet and tear your head off without realizing it's dead. Best to aim for joints and limbs. Cripple it; then take the kill shot."
"Yeah," I said, "I always heard to aim for the front shoulder."
"I aim for the neck. Try to sever the spine," he said coolly.
"I also heard, if you have a six-shooter, to use five on the bear..."
"...and use the last on yourself," he interrupted and finished with a guffaw.
"So what's the best way to take out a grizzly?" I asked.
"Honestly? Best thing is to cover your neck with one arm and lie flat on your belly. He's gonna bite the hell out of the back of your skull and neck. Then you take your pistol, shove it in his mouth and blow his fuckin' head off. Other than that, play dead. Grizzly's not aimin' to eat you, just make sure you're not a threat....but don't get up too fast after it leaves you for dead the first time or it'll come back and do it all over again."
"What about black bears?" I asked, hoping to get a more pleasant answer.
"Black bears eat berries and avoid contact. If one of them attacks, don't play dead; he's gonna eat your ass."
I bought him a single-malt scotch for his words of wisdom and then made my way in the dark, terrified, over to the local hostel, where I slept, poorly, in my sleeping bag on the porch.
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