I rise early, woken up by the stink, stagger down to breakfast, and then go to the souvenir shop next door. The manager there is a great friend of Andy's, and we're going to take all my luggage, which weighs a ton, to the station in his minibus.
Andy; fantastic Andy!
I'm no longer under the protection of my guardian angel - he's not my guide anymore.
From here on I'm on my own.
There's no denying that I feel sad about it. While my fate was in his capable hands I knew I wouldn't have any trouble. In my mind I can still see his careworn face, with beard and glasses, as he stares at
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the screen of his iPhone, while turning the pages of his waterproof notebook. He's a brilliant organizer and a wonderful man who doesn't know the meaning of the word "impossible". Alaska is a place where things are constantly changing, and only someone who is able to adapt themselves to this will be a successful organizer.
Andy is just such an expert, and carries out his work with enthusiasm, great care and attention to details, and an ever-present smile. The achievements of the last few days, exploring the Széchenyi memorial places, are all due to him. I could not have had a better partner than him for all these programs. If my future guides turn out to be half as good as Andy, it's going to be a perfect expedition.
If Alaska is the question, then Andy Morrison is the answer.
I'm sitting at the station waiting for the train.
I'm far to the north of Seward, so the landslide which originally prevented me from travelling by train no longer poses a problem,and I've been told that the tracks are already clear. According to my itinerary, I shall be travelling all day, right up to the northern terminus, Fairbanks. I shall be rattling around on the train for at least eight hours. There's no need to worry about going too fast - we never seem to go over 30 - 35 mph. Some people say that this is one of the most beautiful train journeys in the world, which is why I've chosen to do it, rather than fly. Just after 11.00, with a deafening whistle, the Alaska Railroad train, painted blue and yellow,the state colors, pulls into Talkeetna station. It is pulled by two giant engines, and the platform shakes as they go past. I have a 1st class ticket, known here as Gold Star Service, and I've been given a little badge, which I must - at least, I'm supposed to -
wear all the time to prove I'm a first-class passenger.
The carriage is so high above the platform that you'd need to be a bit of a mountaineer to reach the second storey, if steps weren't provided. My bags have been taken away, and have disappeared into the belly of one of the carriages; only hand-baggage is permitted on board. Downstairs there is a pleasant restaurant, and all the seats are upstairs.
The rear-half of the top floor is open, making it the best place to view the passing scenery, but there are no seats here, you have to stand; all of the seats are in the covered section, but even there you won't miss anything.
Almost all of the carriage is made of glass.
Wherever you look you see glass, and behind it, Alaska. Even the roof is plexiglass. An attendant constantly serves refreshment, and a guide explains to us all the sights passing by. The train is very comfortable, even though it's almost completely full. There are only tourists on the train, as the locals stopped using it years ago; for them it's cheaper and faster to travel by plane, within the state.
However, visiting foreigners enjoy it as they are able to see the wilderness, without experiencing any
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of its discomforts. Outside, right now, a storm is raging, and the wind is hurling rain against the windows; but, here inside, we don't feel a thing. I watch the sodden countryside pass by, as I sip a nice ice-cold beer.
As far as I'm concerned it can rain all it likes.
As long as there's a break on the days I want to go hunting.
On some of the hills we slow down so much I think it would be faster to walk. Most of the other passengers are tourists going to Denali Park, and will get off in a couple of hours, leaving me almost alone. I start talking to a man, a local hunter, who has noticed the SCI sticker on the 1080 Peli bag holding my netbook. We chat away; he knows Eddie very well (here everybody knows everybody), and he gives me a lot of tips about hunting here.
I kind of envy the locals.
Alaskans don't have to get all these really expensive permits each time they go hunting, and it's not compulsory to hire a professional guide either. With a few exceptions, absolutely anyone can go hunting, and most usually do. I haven't come across any hostility towards hunters since I've been here. For these people it is a natural part of their life, and there's at least one hunter in every single family.
After leaving Denali the air becomes thick with smoke.
Huge forest fires are burning across the state, and the smell of burning wood gets into the air-conditioning and fills the carriage. Really vast areas are in flames, and though we are many miles from the actual fire there is a thick curtain of smoke hanging over the landscape;meanwhile, the two strong engines push their way through the swirling, dark air. Yesterday, Andy gave me a scare by saying that my flight from Fairbanks might not be possible. Some days even the large passenger planes don't fly.
That afternoon I have a very good chili in the empty restaurant downstairs.
As we get near to Fairbanks the scenery starts to change. There are agricultural notice-boards and tractors, and we go pass the building of the University of Alaska. We are getting into civilization. We do the last few miles at a snail's pace, and I feel that we'll never arrive.
Fairbanks station looks good, and the first-class service continues. At my request they call my hotel, Pike's Lodge, for a minibus; it arrives, and the driver and I almost cripple ourselves lifting my huge
"The North Face" bag into the trunk. The station is some distance from the city, and looking round me, I wouldn't really call it an urban area. There are houses, set well apart in large gardens. I'm greeted by warm, sultry air, and the smell of burning forest.
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Perhaps Fairbanks is best summed up by the motto of the local tourist center: "Extremely Alaska".
Although, with its population of 85,000, it is the state's second largest city, it's not among the more popular tourist destinations. Nevertheless, it contains everything that Alaska has to offer, and I'll end my already-unforgettable pre-hunting vacation here. The city is very close to the arctic circle, so during the summer it is light for 22 hrs. a day, a fact the inhabitants make full use of. Baseball matches and golf tournaments go on all night, and all the night-life takes place in broad daylight.
The people of this remote city are independent and courageous, and still retain the virtues of their Alaskan past. They are loud and colorful, and perhaps a little more boastful than other Alaskans, but what's certain is that they keep to the old traditions of working hard, playing hard and drinking hard.
I'm really only any good at the last two, so at least our characters are two thirds the same.
According to the guide books a visitor should have at least one friend in the city who can take him to its secret places, and show him the nearby rivers, springs and mountains, so that he will then understand why it's worth living in such an isolated place.
It's said that there are more sled-dogs here than horses in Kentucky. I've no idea if that's true, as Kentucky only makes me think of Kentucky Fried Chicken, but I'm quite willing to believe it. The city and its environs are some of the warmest and driest places in Alaska; this might sound unbelievable, but in summer the temperature can go above 86 F . It's hot enough to go swimming outside, and a pair of shorts is a necessity.
And if you've been reading this book so far, you won't be surprised to learn that Fairbanks owes it's existence entirely to gold.
In 1901 the S.S.Lavelle Young was travelling up the Tanana River, carrying 130 tons of equipment destined for the Tanacross gold-fields. On board was a certain E.T. Barnett. The Tanana soon became too shallow for the heavily laden ship to navigate, so the captain decided to try the Chena River. This route also proved unsuccessful because of the low water level. It seemed to be impossible to reach their destination, so the captain was obliged to order Barnett and his wife, equipped with the necessary supplies, to leave the ship.
The famous disembarkation of the Barnetts took place at what is now the corner of 1st Avenue and Cushman St.,so today anyone can easily visit this historic spot. Barnett was not lucky in his search for gold, but the following year an Italian named Felix Pedro discovered a significant deposit only twelve miles away. From that moment on the story continues in the familiar gold-rush pattern. By 1908
Fairbanks had a population of over 18,000, all trying their luck in the Fairbanks Mining Region. During the next decade, more, distant gold-finds enticed away the majority of the people, but ironically, Fairbanks was the place where gold-mining continued the longest. The big mining companies, with their large scale industrial methods began to arrive, together with the railway, in 1923. The most
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productive field, the Gold Dredge No.8, yielded 7.8million ounces of pure gold between 1928 and 1959. Today, this disused mine is the biggest tourist attraction in the state, but having missed all the action by several decades I had no great interest in going to see it.
However, the gold-rush in Fairbanks isn't over yet. They still have the largest functioning mine in the state, the Fort Knox Gold Mine, which in 2004 yielded $140m worth of gold.
Fairbanks lies more or less in the center of Alaska's north-south axis - slightly south, in fact - with virtually no towns above it. Going north, you only come across scattered settlements of just a few houses, and some military bases and research stations; but even these are hundreds of miles apart.
Running north from here is a single unpaved road, No. 11, known, with a degree of exageration, as the Dalton Highway. It is a wide bulldozed road that runs to the starting-point of the TAPS, in Prudhoe Bay. This is the main supply and service route for the TAPS, as well as being an integral part of the road system coming from Canada, and which, in the event of a war against Russia, would be used to deploy US troops.
Instead of visits to mines, Andy has arranged a different program for me, but more about that later.
This time Andy has not made a mistake with the hotel. Again, it's built of wood, but the interior is beautifully designed, and the rooms are well-furnished. After taking my luggage up to my room, I don't have much time left for sightseeing, as I've got a busy evening coming up.
Soon the hunt will begin.
Room 327, Pike's Waterfront Lodge