End of the road: There's plenty to see in McCarthy, though

McCarthy, Alaska -- Sister to Kennecott, and the end of the road. Traveling 60 miles down a dirt road could be tricky, they warned. Formerly a small-gauge railroad, it could "surprise" its users with a remnant of its past -- railroad spikes -- it was said, but we saw only worn, splintered ties rising through the dusty, beaten path. We went with trepidation. Not only the rumors of the 60-mile road made us cautious, but rumors of McCarthy's reportedly anti-social residents made us a bit leery. It was a place where malcontents like Louis Hastings went to escape society -- and eventually kill six residents in 1983. But we saw no seething, glaring malcontents as we walked leisurely about the town, cameras at the ready to catch every nuance of this former boomtown of Alaska's history.

In 1900, prospectors Jack Smith and Clarence Warner reportedly looked up and noticed a large green spot on the mountain near Kennicott Glacier and wondered what it could be. It is said to have been the discovery of the richest deposit of copper ore ever found. In 1906 Kennecott Mines Company was formed, later becoming Kennecott Copper Corporation and marking the birth of the once-flourishing town. Located in the 12-million acre Wrangell-St. Elias National Park and Preserve, the historical landmarks of McCarthy and Kennecott mines are well worth the trip. In June 1998 the National Park Service acquired many of the significant buildings and lands in Kennecott and began restoration of the broken-down historical buildings, bringing back to life the impressive beauty of this once rich community.

"I'm halfway between Blind Dog Alley and Mudslide," our shuttle driver says into his CB radio that, when released, hangs cock-eyed out of the dirty, worn dash of the Ford -- one of a limited number of vehicles that are "across the bridge." McCarthy and Kennecott are not accessible by car, visitors must park at the end of the road where it meets the Kennicott River. A pedestrian-only bridge, built in 1997 to replace the former tram, crosses the river providing the only summer access. Of course, four-wheelers also fit the narrow width of the bridge and one crossing with a trailer holding four 55-gallon drums of fuel when we arrived gave a new meaning to the term "gas station."

Cars and trucks are brought across the river in the winter when the river is frozen, our driver tells us over the noise of the creaking van as we bounce along the one-lane, 5-mile road between Kennecott and McCarthy. The afternoon sun breaks through the clouds and shines across his hands and disheveled hair as he drives past the homes of McCarthy's few yearround residents. Our driver's description of his whereabouts are due to a sign warning caution about a resident's blind dog -- among other assorted animals recently added to the sign -- hence Blind Dog Alley.

Mudslide, the driver tells us as scattered coffee cups hop along the van's floor in rhythm to the bumps, was named after a slide a couple years ago that took out the road. We look toward the mountain as we pass this local landmark and see pile of dirt unfettered by growth. I try to imagine the magnitude of such an event that would further cut off people from the outside world, people who choose to live across a river with no vehicle access, people content to live at the end of a very long road far from even the most basic supplies. The sun is shining across the mountains, even through the rain that begins to come down, threatening to make the road back to the outside world impassable.

Back in McCarthy we seek shelter under a tarp outside the pizza parlor and watch as tourists casually wait for a flight to the glacier, residents putter around on four-wheelers and a few people wander in and out of the bar. A tiny black and white dog by the name of Lyla wanders in and out of each building greeting everyone and dominating all the other, larger dogs. Not exactly the kind of town mascot you'd expect in this rugged country. A red-eyed young man sits outside the tourist shop and I ask if he lives here full time.

"Hell no," he says. "I couldn't take that." He tells me he played bartender earlier in the day, store-keeper this afternoon. He nods with a smile when asked if he'll return to work here next year, "I like the liquid benefits," he says, tipping his head toward the bar next door.