I've arrived at the most important day of my journey.
There are many things I have planned, not only to explore Alaska, and other states, as well as hunting
, but also to see all the places that Széchenyi visited in 1935. Or, at least, those that are not too far from my route, and are identifiable from his diary. That‟s why I went to the Van Guilder, and is the reason for my program today. But let's keep everthing in sequence.
After sleeping for eleven hours, I am more or less recovered, but I still feel a little dizzy. Andy comes to meet me at 9.00, and I've just managed to finish my packing. I go down to the lounge of the Van
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Guilder and he is there with a friend, ready to set off. But before we do that we have an important task to do.
I have to find Széchenyi Zsigmond's signature in the hotel register. There's no doubt about it, as my brother was here a couple of years ago and it was there then. When I arrived a couple of days ago, during the rush I asked the staff to find me the register for 1935, which they have done. Many thanks for that. I couldn't deal with it yesterday, as I was dying,so I must make time to do it today. Because I'm not leaving Seward without seeing Széchenyi's signature.
I told Andy in advance, so we wouldn't have to argue about it later.
The perpetually smiling receptionist - who the day before had given cries of enthusiasm on hearing about the Hungarian Hunter who came here seventy years ago - produces the book. And behold!! I've found it; it's here right in front of my eyes: Zsigmond Széchenyi from Budapest, Hungary, checked into this hotel and was given room 8!
However, my brother had drawn my attention to a contradiction which I now intend to sort out.
Széchenyi‟s ship, the Yukon, entered Seward's harbour on the 16th August 1935. That is a fact. It's also a fact that his diary entry tells us that he checked into the Van Guilder on that day. It is not written down precisely, but on reading his entries before and after that day, it is difficult to draw any other conclusion.
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But according to the Van Guilder's register he checked in on the 11th. I made a copy of the page to show any unbelievers.
The contradiction is obvious.
After lengthy consideration, this is my theory: Széchenyi was writing up his diary continuously.
Although it is clear in the book that there were some days when his entries were delayed - I do the same - common sense tells us that these were probably times when he was out hunting in the wilds. I don't see any reason for a delay in his entries while he was living in civilized conditions, in a convenient hotel. Even if they had been somehow delayed, we can't seriously believe that he didn't know the exact date of his arrival, rather than making a mistake of several days. I think that's nonsense.
What I think is that the Van Guilder's register is not accurate. It shows that there were very few guests arriving on the 11th August.
Mr. Van Guilder might have thought it not worth starting a new page every day. I must mention that we are not talking about an actual book, but a collection of individual pages. When one page filled up, he simply started another. Quite possibly, he wasn't bothered if guests arrived at a later date than that shown at the top of the page; they simply used that page to register.
I think that is what happened.
During the last few decades the Van Guilder has quietly undergone a noticeable improvement.
They've managed to solve the difficulty of providing breakfast for their guests, but it's still not up to the normal standard found in good hotels. Whoever stays here shouldn't expect much more than some tired muffins and a cup of coffee. Also, on the ground floor there is WiFi. It's advisable to choose room 306, as this is still within WiFi range, and so we can use the internet in our room.
I explain to Andy that today - as in my original plans - we must follow Széchenyi's route as far as Camp Stetson Creek, using all the information and data available. Earlier, Andy had discovered the probable co-ordinates of his camp-site, but there's no way of guessing the whereabouts of the house of his guide, Andy Simmons. But this has to be found, as it is where they set out from on their boat trip on Lake Keni; our starting point cannot be anywhere else.
After making several enquiries we are directed to the Seward Museum. Its elderly director, a retired history teacher, is apparently a fount of local knowledge about Seward and its environs. The museum is not far from the Van Guilder, so it's just a quick walk to get there.
Like everybody I've met so far in Alaska, the museum director is very helpful. He immediately produces the file on Andy Simmons from his own archive. Now the life and death of this man has
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become an open book to us. Unfortunately, it's not possible to find the house as its actual site has disappeared. When I was talking about Anchorage before, I mentioned that the region had been hit by a massive earthquake in 1964. This produced such a violent movement of the earth, that a nearby mountain - now known as Andy Simmons Mountain - toppled over, burying his house and the surrounding area under many feet of rubble. No path or track leads there anymore. It is just untrodden wilderness, and even if we could struggle through it, we couldn't say where the house stood as the very place no longer exists; the field was completely changed by the quake.
It's difficult to tear myself away from the museum as there are so many documents here relating to Simmons, Alaska's number one hunting guide; but none have been translated into Hungarian.
But we must go.
We get into Andy's beaten-up, four-wheel drive minibus, and, towing the boat behind us, we leave for Lake Kenai.
The spirits of Alaska are supporting us in our explorations, and send us trackers excellent, sunny weather.
We reach the lake, close to where Simmons house must have been, and begin the complicated maneuvre of launching the boat.
"Before leaving, Andy tells the engine-driver where to stop, as there is no station at the place we want to get off" (Széchenyi : Hunting in Alaska)
" On our left is a huge blue lake." (Széchenyi)
My Andy makes short work of launching the boat; he reverses the trailer into the water, which bubbles and gurgles as the trailer submerges. When the boat's engine is in the water, Andy starts it, reverses off the trailer, and then the little boat begins cheerfully chugging across the glass-like surface of Lake Kenai. I'm especially delighted that heaven has sent us such good weather, as, after the horrors of yesterday, I had serious worries about being able to manage the trip today. As usual, there was no need to worry about what the future might hold, as it turns out the water could not be smoother.
"We carry our luggage to the shore of Lake Kenai, and pack everything into Andy's motorboat - from here we will continue our journey in it, this boat that Andy built himself." (Széchenyi)
"This time, however, the engine attached to the stern of the boat wil not start." (Széchenyi) Andy's little boat is not unlike the beaten-up craft of his famous predecessor. It's quite tatty, and doesn't look to be in great health. As I sit down on the first seat on the right, it immediately rocks back, as the screws fixing it came out long ago. The old engine is so loud that Andy hands out earplugs, in the desperate hope that we won't get deafened right away.
I have to admit that the little boat, despite looking rather unseaworthy, goes on heroically. It moves over the water at a speed that is surprising for its size, and the resulting breeze blows my hat off. We
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have to fish it out of the water. We have set out on Lake Kenai.
"We are lying on the deck ... " (Széchenyi)
The unexpectedly good weather gives us the chance to change our original plan, and meander up on of the rivers flowing into the lake. Andy daringly steers the boat up the narrow river, and we bravely navigate its curves. We come to some fast rapids, and acknowledging that the situation is getting dangerous, Andy insists that we wear life-jackets.After we put them on Andy turns up the throttle and the boat rushes over the wild rapids of the flooding river. We reach a bridge, underneath which the water starts to toss the boat about violently; I'm very nearly thrown out. After our white-water detour, we return to the calm waters of Kenai, where Andy demonstrates amazing courage ...
He lets me steer the boat!
I've never steered a motor-boat before in my life; where else would I do it if not in Alaska? I push the throttle and the boat reacts at once; the lever is very sensitive. Andy encourages me to step on the gas, to quickly change direction and generally speed about the lake. I don't need much encouragement to start rapidly spinning the steering wheel, and I get a rush of adrenalin. A right turn, a left curve: the water bubbles behind us in our wake!
"Lake Kenai is confined between high mountains, but meanders for long distances; it is only 0.8 miles wide, but over 21 miles long" (Széchenyi)
Our rushing about ends when the sharp-sighted Andy spots two bald eagles, the heraldic emblem of the US, perched on a tree on the shore. They are completely unafraid, not even disturbed by the noise of our boat. I take out my binoculars and study the two imperial creatures for ten minutes. I get an idea of their true size when they take flight, one after the other, moving to another tree 300 feet away. They are huge, seemingly slow-moving birds of prey, but they must be capable of faster maneuvering when it comes to catching their food.
It takes us under two hours, including making our detour and watching the birds, to go around Lake Kenai. The same journey took Széchenyi four hours.
"During our four hour sale..." (Széchenyi)
This shows how fast boats have become over the last seventy years. The end of the lake is marked by a bridge, which is also the start of the Kenai River.
"It contracts into a narrow, fast-flowing river, which runs from here towards the sea under the name of the Kenai River. (...) This is Cooper's Landing, the home of the fur-trapper Jack Mclean." (Széchenyi)
There's no sign of Jack anymore, but we still go ashore ... At least, that's what we'd like to do, but we only succeed in mooring the boat after several failed attempts; Andy's loud commands finally produce a result. The boat is put back back on the trailer - which has been brought here in the meantime by a
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friend of Andy's - and we set off to find Stetson Creek Trail. This is the route used by Simmons and others in 1935; and following it is the most likely way to find their old camp-site.
"For the moment we are following the course of the bubbling and meandering River Kenai, along an easily walkable path" (Széchenyi)
While we're searching for the path, there is a small misunderstanding. I have already installed the latest map of North America on my GARMIN OREGON 300 GPS, and it clearly shows the path starting 300 feet from our present position.
Andy, however, is studying a paper map - I can't imagine what he's looking at for 15 minutes - before he decides which way to go. We turn the car around and head off in exactly the opposite direction to that on my GPS. I show it to Andy, and eventually convince him; so he tosses aside his redundant paper map, and from now on we will rely on my GPS. We succeed in finding the start of the path.
"... we turn into the forest on an old, barely visible path." (Széchenyi) We've spend so much time at the museum, travelling, sailing and getting lost, that it is now after 3.00pm, and we are only just setting out on the trail.Széchenyi and his companions spent a night at the end of Lake Kenai, but we do not have time to do this. We'd like to get to the camp and back today, as my tight schedule does not allow for an extra, unplanned night. So, we set off at a very brisk pace. There's no opportunity for our muscles to warm up gradually, as the Stetson Creek Trail starts with a steep slope.
"We have been climbing up a steep mountain for one and a half hours." (Széchenyi) We are all carrying light packs, and I can see that both of my companions are in very good shape.
We're walking over firm ground in the forest, and the pine needles are soft under the soles of our boots. In places there are rocks sticking up out of the ground; Andy says that the earth will not get really hard because of the constant rain.
In Alaska, the rule that you must be silent in a forest is not enforced. Quite the opposite, in fact - here, shouting can save your life. One of the most frequent causes of bear-attacks is because the forest-walker approaches the animal unnoticed, and by the time it does see him it will be so frightened that it attacks at once. According to "SCI Eddie", bears mainly become dangerous in those areas where they are not hunted. In these places they have no respect for humans; but, in the hunting grounds, the bears have learned that people carry something that can easily kill them. There they keep a healthy distance, and attacks are rare. The most dangerous scenario possible is when a person gets between a mother and her cubs; then an attack is virtually impossible to avoid. It's best to try and prevent it, and the best way to do this is to make a noise. The bear will know well in advance that someone is approaching, and there is time for a mother and her cubs to run off. My companions uphold this rule, and with loud shouts and whistles, they scare off all the forest creatures.
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I even have some anti-bear spray. It's dangling from my belt, and is the size of a small fire-extinguisher. If a bear does come, I must spray it right between the eyes, and then it will run off - at least, that's what I've been told.
I'm not completely convinced by this, but I don't have my gun to hand, so it's probably better than nothing.
We are ascending the slope.
The pines wil soon give way to the alders described in Széchenyi‟s book.
"We are coming to dense and almost impenetrable alder thickets ..." (Széchenyi)
"The alder thickets begin above the forest-belt.” (Széchenyi) Luckily, we do not have to cut our way through, because motor-cyclists have already done it for us, and the path is now easy to walk. The Stetson Creek Trail is one of the favourite practice runs for ATV-machines, but right now they're off somewhere else.
"Now, the most unpleasant part of our journey starts: the passage through the alder thickets."
(Széchenyi)
The higher we go the more difficult and unpassable the trail becomes. Eventually, I can only tell that we're still on the path by consultingn my GPS. We have to climb over fallen trees and struggle through undergrowth taller than a man, and we even have to ford a creek. Many, many years ago there was a bridge over it, but, now, only the main cable is intact. Once on the other side, we have to climb a short, steep wall of rock. We slide back a couple of steps and then, try again.
"There are two of us to help each horse, one pulling the head, the other pushing the rump of the animal, which can climb with the skill of a chamois." (Széchenyi) In the difficult struggle through the undergrowth I even lose my sunglasses. The plants scratch our faces, and we clutch at prickly branches; the cold water bites our ankles as our boots sink into the mud. But we just keep on going. The path now runs very close to Stetson Creek, and Andy says the co-ordinates, that we'd worked out in advance, cannot be far away.
Finally, we get there.
"We arrive dog-tired." (Széchenyi)
Here we are; according to both the GPS, and common-sense, this is where they must have made camp. There's nowhere else more suitable anywhere near.
"We pitched our tents in a shallow, semi-exposed trench in the middle of a wind-blown alpine meadow, in the shelter of some wizened alder thickets. Right in front of the tents flows a foaming mountain creek, which exhales the breath of the glacier with its eternal snows, from where it begins.
Its name is Stetson Creek." (Széchenyi)
We're just a few feet beyond the Stetson, and every detail tallies. We've studied all the available
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documents, considered where we would have set up our camp, if we'd been them, and that is now where we are standing. According to our best knowledge, the camp had to be there. Count Széchenyi camped here - in this very place - from the 18th to the 24th of August, 1935.
It is a moving moment.
I'm here!
For most of my short life, I have been waiting to come here. We have found Széchenyi‟s camp.
With his companions he set out each morning, throughout August 1935, to hunt rams. Exactly forty years before I was born. Andy and his friend give me a little time to compose my thoughts, but we don't have very long. We still have something else to do.
I've brought a memorial plaque along with me. It's a copper tablet mounted on wood, with both Hungarian, and English, text. I shall leave it here, in a place that no other Hungarian has visited since Széchenyi. We look for a tree to fasten it to, but we can't find one. I'd be happy just to tie it to an alder bush, but Andy talks me out of it. The bushes are not growing in a safe place; if we attach it to one of these it would be destroyed by the first spring avalanche.
Finally, we decide to screw it to the trunk of a suitable tree, a few hundred feet away. Andy does most of the work, but the finishing touches are left for me. They are, in fact, largely unnecessary as it is already firmly fixed. How long it will stay there, I don't know. But, perhaps, that's not really the point.
In remembrance of Earl Zsigmond Széchenyi who is the greatest Hungarian hunter of all time and his legendary Alaskan guide Andy Simmons. They were both exquisite who hunted here togedher in August 1935.
August 2009
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This text is written on the plaque in both Hungarian and English.
We have logged the co-ordinates of both the camp and the plaque, so that from now on, anybody, with the energy and the inclination, can visit this place, a memorial to the history of Hungarian hunting, here in the heart of Alaska, thousands of miles away from Hungary.
We head back.
Who knows if I will ever come here again?
I make Andy promise that if he is ever wandering around this area again, he will come and have a look at our plaque. He is a conscientious man, and I know he will do it.
On the way back we are almost running, and I am buoyed up by the feeling of work well-done, and a dream fulfilled.
The lack of time is now constant. We get into Andy's stationwagon - the battered old boat stares at us from behind the car - and in under two hours we are in Andy's office in Girdwood. Girdwood is only a small village, but it has everything. There's no lack of space, and it's certainly not an overcrowded place.
- This is the town center - explains Andy, as he points out four houses.
You definitely wouldn't say that the houses are crammed together. Then we take a left turn and go
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down a winding road. Suddenly, a huge building appears: the Hotel Alyeska - you really don't expect such a place in a small village. It will be my new home for the next two days.
It's a very modern hotel, with all conveniences. The lounge ceiling depicts the constellations of the Alaskan sky. A few feet below it a stuffed Polar bear menaces the hotel guests. My first impression is that it surpasses the Anchorage Hilton. Andy and his friends act as if they are my porters, and bring my luggage up to my room. I'm very tired but we still have to arrange the schedule for tomorrow. As usual, changes have been made to the plan, but nothing has been completely cancelled, and that's the main thing. I want to go to bed right now, it's so late. I shoo Andy and his friends out of my room, and begin my daily diary.
ps. Night
I hearby take back all the good things I've said about this hotel.
At midnight I wanted to get something to eat, but it proved impossible. There are several kitchens within the hotel, but during the night you simply can't get any food. They don't even have a packet of peanuts. And the minibar is an unknown item in Alaskan hotel rooms.
The receptionist suggested that I should get something from the vending machine. From a vending machine! I've never experienced that before. They've actually installed a vending machine in a five-star hotel! And it only sells drinks in plastic bottles. Just like in some subway. Tonight I'm having apple juice for dinner.
Containing 100% apple.
Room 852, Hotel Alyeska
1000, Arlberg Avenue
Girdwood