Visit is like stepping back in time

In high school I was living in Washington state but still spending my summers, winters and every chance I got with my dad in Wasilla. Seems every time I came up he had some activity planned. One year we drove to Dawson City. Another visit saw me in a Smokey Bear outfit while Dad worked the firefighting booth at the Alaska State Fair (thanks heaps, dad). But perhaps the most memorable was the 1988 trip to Kennecott.

I’m not surprised if you’ve never heard of it. I’m surprised at how often I mention it, even to a fellow Alaskan, and find that the person has no idea where it is or has never been there. I know I was clueless about it when dad told me that we would be traveling there. I helped mom and dad load the truck and off we went; my 9-year-old brother, Paul, mom, dad and the two dogs. To get there we drove north to Glennallen, turned right on the Richardson Highway for about 30 miles, and then left on the Edgerton Highway for 30 miles to Chitina. There, the pavement ends and it was rough dirt road about 1.5 lanes wide for another 60 miles. The road follows what was once a train route and we could still occasionally see tracks and railroad ties poking through the dirt. At one point, we had to drive across a trestle bridge that was narrow and very, very tall.

When we drove it in 1988, there was timber laid down that was just wide enough to accommodate the tires on each side of the vehicle. You had to drive very careful, slow and straight, as there were no guardrails. Just like today, you’re lucky if you can drive 35 mph, although the road is so washboard in some areas that you’ll damage your car if you drive much faster than 10. You travel in and out of the Wrangell-St. Elias National Park, but amazingly will pass some truly beautiful homes way out there. We stopped to admire the fish wheels along the banks of the famous Copper River. Finally, the road stops at a river and you can go no farther. When we reached the end of the road, we set up camp and played badminton on the rocky river shore until the wee hours of the morning. After getting some sleep, we proceeded across the river via a hand-drawn tram. We walked for a few hundred feet, and then once again had to cross a creek using another cable tram. About a quarter mile up the road we found ourselves in the town of McCarthy.

As I recall, the population was around 30. The buildings hadn’t changed in almost 100 years and indeed still had the same signs that were painted back around the turn of the century, advertising some of them as stores and such. There were cars on that side of the river that were able to cross in the winter and remained landlocked throughout the summer. For more money than my parents were willing to pay, you could catch a ride to Kennecott (about five miles up the road.) The weather was beautiful and we walked it. Even after all these years, I still insist on reminding Paul that I carried him on my back a portion of the way. It was a quiet, peaceful walk. From the time we had first arrived at the river we didn’t see a soul except for a person or two walking around in McCarthy. When we finally arrived in Kennecott, we were amazed to see an entire mining community that had been abruptly abandoned in 1938 after the copper lodes had been depleted.

I peered into old houses that still had furniture, plates and pictures on the wall, etc. I walked in buildings that still had immense tools resting on tables and hanging on pegs. It was truly like stepping back in time. Dad made sure we were respectful visitors and didn’t disturb anything, and we certainly never would have dreamed of taking home any souvenirs. We spent the rest of the day exploring and walked a little farther to get a good look at the immense glacier that the town is built against. I marveled at the waterfall and creek running under the old wooden bridge in the middle of town. I recall only seeing one other person there, and it was amazing to have the whole town almost to ourselves. Finally, late in the afternoon, we departed to walk back to the campsite. Stopping by McCarthy for an over-priced soda and slice of pie I remember promising myself that I would make regular visits back to Kennecott.

Life has a way of getting in the way and I never made it back until last weekend. My wife and I loaded up our two youngest children and enough supplies to make our van sag in the rear and totally obscure my vision in the rearview mirror. We pulled out of Palmer on a wet and drizzly Friday morning — and the alternator went out just shy of Eureka. I managed to barely make it to the NAPA auto parts store on battery power, where I was informed that I would have to wait 24 hours for a new one to arrive from Anchorage. The people in Glennallen were incredibly nice and made us feel welcome as we camped our first night in their parking lot. With a lot of assistance from my wife, Glenny, we replaced the alternator and were on our way the next morning.

This time, we set off in blazing hot weather. After driving across the new and improved trestle bridge (now solid and with guardrails) we finally arrived at the end of the road to find … enough people to pack the stadium at the Super Bowl and had to pay $20 per night to camp. OK, so I wasn’t expecting it to be totally like it was back in the day, but holy cow! That was a lot of people! The land there is privately owned and up for sale (please, please, please state of Alaska, buy that land). I set up camp just in time as the clouds rolled in, the temperature dropped and it began to rain and didn’t let up for two days. We hiked the five miles to Kennecott (even my two little ones) to find a large, deluxe lodge set up right in town and a pizza/espresso stand.

We couldn’t enter the buildings unless with a guide. There were people everywhere. Still, it was a pretty impressive sight and I was glad to see that with the new attention came a desire to restore the buildings. McCarthy was still pretty much the same (the population has swelled to around 45), but I noticed the prices were now more reasonable. The demographics seemed to consist of old hippies and college kids working for the summer at the various guide businesses and was all-in-all peaceful and pleasant. We left after a few days, pulling out of the parking lot as the clouds parted and the hot weather returned (of course as we left) with another Alaska adventure scratched off our list and we look forward to going back next summer.

If you have friends visiting from the Lower 48 and have the time and resources, I highly recommend you take them up. It’s worth the trip.

Ben Compton is a Palmer resident and publishes his column under the tagline “Compton’s Corner,” the same title used by his grandmother, Phyllis Compton, a longtime Frontiersman columnist.