From the air.
One of the benefits of being a single pilot helicopter operator — as opposed to a big helicopter tour company or flight school — is that I can take flying gigs that many larger operators have to turn down. This is one of the reasons I fly, once or twice a year, for the leader of photographic expeditions in the southwest. He’ll call me when he has a group together and ask me to fly them around Lake Powell for aerial photo sessions of the lake.
It’s a great gig and I love it. What’s not to like about flying over some of the most spectacular scenery in the southwest for several days in a row and getting paid to do it?
Last year my husband Mike came along for the ferry flight to Page. We stayed two nights — I fly only around sunrise and late afternoon for my clients on this gig — and departed early the next morning for Wickenburg. That’s when Mike took this shot of the Glen Canyon Dam with the morning sun casting shadows in the canyon.
According to Wikipedia:
Glen Canyon Dam is a dam on the Colorado River at Page, Arizona, operated by the United States Bureau of Reclamation. The purpose of the dam is to provide water storage for the arid southwestern United States, and to generate electricity for the region’s growing population. The dam has been controversial since its inception, because it caused the flooding of the scenic Glen Canyon and its tributaries to create a man-made reservoir, Lake Powell.
And:
The Glen Canyon Dam is a 710 foot high structure which provides more storage capacity than all other storage features of the Colorado River Storage Project combined. The concrete arch dam has a crest length of 1,560 feet and contains 4,901,000 cubic yards of concrete. The dam is 25 feet wide at the crest and 300 feet wide at the maximum base. Its height above the Colorado River is 587 feet.
Unlike the Hoover Dam, which is the next dam down river in the Colorado River Storage Project, the Glen Canyon Dam has always had a separate bridge for crossing the river — the 1,271-foot bridge you see beside the dam in this photo. This, and its remote location, make it is less of a security concern than the Hoover Dam. (I’m not sure if the construction on the new bridge near the Hoover Dam is done yet; I need to fly up there one of these days and check it out.)
Lake Powell is one of the destinations on the Southwest Circle Helicopter Adventure and Land of the Navajo Helicopter Excursion that Flying M Air offers. I do these trips in the spring and autumn, when there are fewer people in the area but the weather is still warm enough to enjoy outdoor activities.
The lake is highly controversial. The dam flooded a huge area of pristine canyon lands with many archeological sites and even a few active settlements. This land was mostly inaccessible, like so much of America’s desert wilderness. That may be why the decision to build the dam was made. Although the Sierra Club would like nothing more than to destroy the dam and drain the lake, at this point I think it’s too late. The canyon walls are stained with minerals from the water and all plant life beneath the current water level is dead. It would take hundreds, if not thousands, of years for the area to be restored to its original health and beauty. Sadly, the need for water in the desert southwest has become more important than the need for another remote wilderness. We should be thankful that the original plan to stretch a dam across the Grand Canyon was scrapped, as we could have lost that instead.
I think we should be satisfied with the beauty of the lake and the recreational opportunities it provides. Although most boating activity goes on in the Page area, there’s nothing so peaceful or relaxing as climbing aboard a houseboat for a week-long trip up lake, where few day-trippers venture. Exploring the side canyons by small boat or on foot gives you a sense of what it might have been like before the waters rose.
Indeed, that’s where I hope to retire when I get too old to fly: on a houseboat at Lake Powell.
This case of cakes and pies and pastries called to me. In Arizona real bakeries are a rarity. Supermarkets here are big and new and almost all of them have a bakery department. Some are actually quite good. Our recently renovated Safeway here in Wickenburg has a nice display case of cakes and cookies these days. But I’ve never seen any bakery in Arizona with a display like this. And I’ve never been to a bakery in Arizona worth writing about.
A cruise is the ultimate lazy person’s vacation. You get on board on day one, unpack in your own private room, and go to any number of onboard restaurants for free meals just about any time of the day. In the evening, your moving hotel departs the port and moves gently through the sea, arriving at the next port on the next morning. Once there, you can get off the ship and do all kinds of excursions, ranging in trolley tours of the local town, big production shows (the Great American Lumberjack Show comes to mind), active activities (such as biking or hiking), or “adventure” activities (such as helicopter landings on glaciers or sled dog trips or float plane flights). At the end of the day, you’re back on board in your comfy, maid-serviced room, eating free food, seeing free shows, and/or throwing money away in the casino as the ship moves on to the next port.
We spent much of our two “at sea” days in our cabin on the balcony, reading, talking, and taking photos of the things we passed. In fact, as the ship turned away from the Hubbard Glacier to continue on its way, we came back to the room to relax on the balcony with a bottle of wine and our cameras.
And speaking of gratuities, you’re expected, at the end of your cruise, to tip your lead and assistant waiters in the main dining room, the head waiter in the main dining room, and your cabin attendant. Our dining room service was very good — both waiter and assistant waiter were extremely professional without being stiffs. We joked about things, they gave us advice on wine for when we got home, and they didn’t have any trouble giving Mike and Syd (one of our two table mates) seconds and thirds of lobster tails on Tuesday night, when lobster was the popular choice on the menu. But the head waiter obviously only came around to be friendly and secure his tip, so we didn’t tip him. Many people didn’t show up for dinner on Thursday night, the last night of the cruise, to avoid tipping the dining staff. (More on cheapskates in a moment.) We tipped our cabin attendant the suggested amount, even though we didn’t like her. She did her job, but drew the line there. No special service, as we’d had with our last cabin attendant.
Ketchikan was a good example. The day we were there, three cruise ships were lined up at the dock facing the port shopping area. This was roughly 6 to 9 blocks of solid shopping — mostly for jewelry and t-shirts — with the vast majority of shops owned by cruise ship companies or their affiliates. The Great American Lumberjack Show was on the outskirts of this — this tourist attraction does four or five or more shows a day with people lined up to see them. (We saw highlights of this on television, on a show purportedly about Alaska, so we didn’t need or want to see it in person.) This area was very crowded.
Yet less than 1/2 mile away was historic Creek Street, the former red light district of the town, which had been converted into small, mostly locally owned shops. It was nearly deserted. And on the town’s walking tour was an interesting totem pole museum and fish hatchery, both of which were empty.
Of course, the beauty of Alaska still lies beyond all this. Sure, we did excursions, but we did the ones that took us away from the cruise ships and shopping cities they’d built. One excursion took us by helicopter to land and hike on two different glaciers. Another was supposed to take us by helicopter to a mountaintop, where we’d do a 4-mile hike with a guide and return to the ship by train. (That one was cancelled when low ceilings prevented us from getting to the mountain top; we later rented a car to see what we’d missed: on that day, fog.) Another excursion took us by float plane up the Misty Fjords, passing mountain lakes, waterfalls, and glacial snow before landing in a mountain-enclosed bay. (You can see now how we managed to spend $1,800 in extras.) And at the end of each excursion, we walked the town, going beyond the shiny gift shops to walk among the historic buildings and, in more than one instance, panhandlers and locals who weren’t fortunate enough to get jobs selling jewelry to tourists at the docks.
An exception to all this: Icy Straits Point and the indian village of Hoonah. This port had no dock, so our ship anchored offshore and used three tenders (specially configured lifeboats) to ferry passengers back and forth.
Mike and I did the 1-1/2 mile walk (each way) into town where bald eagles waited in treetops for the local fishermen to clean their fish. We stopped at a local bar, where a man had covered the pool table with old photos of the town and more recent photos of a 25-foot snowfall. Then we went to the Landing Zone restaurant at the bottom of the zip line and had a great lunch of chowder and fried halibut and salmon, prepared fresh and served by locals.
Mike and I soon realized that the best place on the train — weather permitting — was the open area between the train cars. There was generally enough space for two people on each side (right and left) of each car at each end. This place was perfect for shooting photos of the train as it wound around the track or for some of the scenic views we passed.
Mike and I had very high expectations about the train ride, primarily because everyone kept telling us how great it was. As a result, we were disappointed. Don’t get me wrong — it’s a really great trip and one you should not pass up if given the opportunity. But it is about seven hours long (each way). Although there are plenty of incredible views, there are also a lot of boring stretches when there’s nothing but trees on both sides of the train. A one-way trip is enough. I wished we’d either flown or driven a rental car one way and taken the train the other way. Fourteen hours on a train (in the span of 3 days) was a bit much for me.
We did luck out as far as seeing Mount McKinley goes. At one point in the track, the train guide pointed it out in the distance. I managed to snap a few photos. The mountain wasn’t completely visible — there were plenty of white clouds masking various parts of it — but its summit rose up through it all. Magnificent.
We signed up (and paid up) for a shuttle to Fish Creek. My understanding of the shuttle was that you could ride it as far as Fish Creek, but get off at any point, hike around for a while, and board another shuttle going in either direction. The reality was that the “shuttle” was a basic tour bus with a driver who stopped for wildlife spottings and took well over 4 hours to go 60 miles. The round trip was supposed to take 8 hours. For us, that’s a lot of time to be stuck on a tour bus.
We took the 7:30 AM shuttle all the way to Fish Creek, where the driver turned the bus around. Along the way, we spotted some Dall sheep, a grizzly bear, and three caribou (all at one place), along with some other sheep, bears, and caribou. The highlight was spotting a mama grizzly with two cubs. I got some excellent photos of them.
We got off at a McKinley viewpoint on the way back. Mike and I spent about 30 minutes just sitting on the ground, looking toward McKinley. Clouds completely obscured its top. We waited for them to clear, but they never did. I did get a few shots of a squirrel that was obviously far more friendly that it should have been. This is common in National Parks. People feed the wildlife and the wildlife becomes almost tame. The only problems with this is (1) tourists aren’t around all the time, so animals used to being fed don’t eat much off-season and (2) people food (like Cheetos and ham sandwiches) aren’t very good for them. The National Park Service at the Grand Canyon actually has to kill mule deer who scavenge in garbage pails during the winter, eat plastic bags, and get very sick.
We hiked along the road for about a mile, then flagged down a bus and rode to the next stop. We passed by the mama bear and babies again. We rode along to a rest stop, then got off and hiked a while more. The problem with Denali is that there aren’t any many hiking trails. If you want to hike, you either have to bushwack through the tundra and run the risk of running into a bear or walk along the road, where you can flag down a bus. The road is not paved, so every time a vehicle goes past, the dust gets kicked up. It isn’t terribly pleasant. But the views are great and it’s wonderful to stumble upon some sheep high on a hill or some caribou drinking in a glacial runoff stream without a bus driver having to point it out to you.
We learned too late that there’s lodging deep inside the park. If we go back, that’s where we’ll stay. Then we can do short hikes from our room or longer hikes with outfitters based there. That’s probably the best option for us, since we really prefer to avoid the tour bus crowd.
Anchorage is a nice little city. I was extremely impressed by its 100+ miles of paved walking/biking trails that are easily accessible from many points along the coast. The paths follow the coastline, passing through one park after another, with great views and plenty of clean, fresh air along the way. I could easily imagine myself biking or walking or even skating along those paths every single day. I’d be happier and healthier and thinner.
I should make it clear here: Anchorage does not have a deep water port so it does not get cruise ship traffic. Passengers on cruise package tours do come through the city, though. And there are other visitors who don’t come or go as part of a cruise package. So tourism is big in Anchorage — as it is in most of the rest of the state’s cities and towns.
Back in Anchorage, the weather had become — well, perfect. We had a great walk along one of Anchorage’s trails, where I got a chance to experiment with my new camera. This time of year, the sun sets in Anchorage around midnight, so the days are long and, oddly enough, you don’t feel tired, even late at night. I managed to get a shot of an Anchorage almost-sunset over the mud flats.