After years of feeling jealous when friends raved about their bear sightings in Alaska, I finally had my turn. And what a turn—not just a chance sighting where the bear is a speck on the horizon but frequent close-up encounters.
When I reached the Anan Wildlife Observatory viewing shelter, a mother black bear was rubbing her shoulder against the trunk of a Sitka spruce less than 10 feet from the stairs to the platform while her cub peered down from an overhead branch.
I waited until mom ambled away before I went up the stairs to the platform then peered straight down at the cascading falls of Anan Creek where three bears perching on boulders watched salmon leap up the river. Every so often, a paw would sweep swiftly into the water and bring up a meal.
From early July to September, Anan Creek, an ancient Tlingit fishing site located on the northern shore of the Cleveland Peninsula, hosts the largest pink salmon run in southeast Alaska. The fish, in turn, host (so to speak) large concentrations of black bears and bald eagles, as well as some grizzlies.
The wildlife observatory stands in the Tongass National Forest, the largest forest in the United States (bigger than West Virginia), and is administered by the U.S Forest Service, which limits observatory visitors to 60 per day and issues passes during the peak season.
Two interpretive rangers are stationed here, one at the entrance of the trail to the viewing platform where he gives advice about bear safety (sing or talk loudly and stay together). The second ranger remains on the observation platform, ensuring visitor safety and providing information about wildlife.
The half-mile trail along Anan Creek, mostly on a boardwalk, leads through a lush rain forest under cedar, hemlock, alder and Sitka spruce. On the trail, we spotted bald eagles, mergansers, loons and even a kingfisher.
In addition to viewing from the trail and the partly covered platform, visitors can sign up (five at a time) for a 30-minute stay in a covered blind down another short flight of stairs that ends at the level of the falls, where you can watch the bears from open windows. Sometimes they’re so close you can’t use a telephoto lens on your camera.
Although we didn’t spot any bears on the trail, there wasn’t a moment on the platform when I didn’t see them. They fished, feasted and charged one another over the best locations. Once, a bear walked so close to the platform rail we could have leaned over and petted her, had the ranger not nudged us away. Then she curled her lips, showed her teeth and growled—and didn’t look so cuddly after all.
Sated with bear sightings after a few hours, our group boarded the tour boat for the hour-long ride back to Wrangell, the only town on the densely forested 35-mile-long island of the same name. The island is separated from the mainland by a channel, and no bridges lead to it. You come by ferry or plane. I’d arrived the night before with my RV on an Alaska Marine Highway System ferry, the M/V Taku, from Juneau, about a 12-hour trip.
The ferry system can accommodate any size RV. Passengers can’t sleep in their vehicles but can access them when the ferry ports. I rented a small but tidy and comfortable cabin, but many people just sleep in public areas, such as the lounges. Not only was the Taku pretty classy for a ferry (even the cafeteria food was good), I enjoyed extravagant views along the Inside Passage.
Wrangell is legendary for outdoor adventures, everything from biking, canoeing, kayaking and river rafting to fishing and hiking as well as chartered sightseeing flights offered by nearly a dozen tour operators. So the next morning I signed up for a popular six-hour excursion by jet boat on the Stikine River.
Stikine means Great River in Tlingit. It’s one of the last free-flowing rivers in North America and runs nearly 400 miles from its headwaters in British Columbia before emptying in the Pacific Ocean 5 miles from Wrangell.
In his book Travels in Alaska, naturalist John Muir eloquently described this wilderness when he explored the region in 1879. This is where he came upon his famous dog, Stickeen (the spelling of the river at that time).
Muir explored by canoe, but tours today are mostly by jet boat, primarily because the 27,200-acre river delta is laced with sandbars where you can ground at low tide. Even in a canoe, Muir said he often ran aground, but now the big aluminum jet boats zigzag across water as shallow as 6 feet.
We cruised close to many of the long sand bars in the delta and gawked at the plentiful bird life. The area’s home to the second largest concentration of eagles in the world, and we spotted hundreds, along with many of their huge nests, which can weigh more than a ton. In April and May, the annual bird migration brings snow geese, sandhill cranes and more than 100,000 shorebirds. We also spotted mergansers, moose, ravens and deer.
Early morning fog drifted through tree-studded hillsides as we passed old miners’ camps and waterfalls glistening on granite cliffs. We cruised on a tributary toward Chief Shakes Glacier, the river’s major attraction.
About 2 miles from the glacier we had to stop when we came to a swarm of jagged blue chunks of icebergs that had broken off from the glacier and drifted down Shakes Lake, jamming the entrance. They were so large we couldn’t see over them to the glacier. We tried to wend our way through them but were blocked repeatedly by hunks of ice in our way. It happens sometimes, even to John Muir, who said he often couldn’t force his way through and once was even stranded among icebergs.
We turned around and started upriver again and were more than compensated for missing the glacier when we stopped at Chief Shakes Hot Springs. To get there, we had to scramble ashore (best to wear shoes that can get wet and muddy) and walk a short distance on a trail to two redwood hot tubs (one open, one roofed with netting to keep out bugs), dressing rooms, benches and outhouses, all maintained by the forest service. A perfect ending to a day spent dodging icebergs.
The next two days I devoted to exploring Wrangell—the island and the town.
The island has more than 100 miles of forest service roads that take you to remote lakes and rivers as well as several campsites. My favorite was the 12-mile scenic drive along Zimovia Strait to Nemo Point, which overlooks the strait and surrounding islands. The forest service also maintains good bike and hiking trails, one of the most popular leading through old-growth rain forest to 100-foot Rainbow Falls.
Wildlife is all around—moose, black and brown bear, deer, mountain goats and dozens of bird species. Fishing is also a big draw here with halibut and five species of salmon along with steelhead and trout.
The town of Wrangell is a small and authentic southeast Alaska fishing village with a population around 2,000. Call it “the real Alaska,” if you will. The big cruise ships don’t stop here, so I wasn’t confronted by thousands of tourists crowded into souvenir shops.
By comparison, one morning I ate breakfast at a café where the locals gather and watched a small black-and-white TV in a corner that broadcast the community news: Emil’s surgery recovery, a medical fundraiser for Bob, a pickup truck for sale, the date for the next gospel meeting.
I was surprised to discover that, despite its small size, Wrangell has the only USGA-rated golf course in southeast Alaska, nine-hole Muskeg Meadows.
Wrangell is so small that just about everything you’d want to see is within walking distance of downtown, which is only a few blocks from the ferry terminal.
Chief Shakes Island, a minuscule spot of land almost attached to Wrangell (you could walk over at low tide if you didn’t mind getting muddy feet), offers insights into Tlingit culture and history. The Stikine Tlingits are famous for their carved totem poles and house posts. Once across the elevated wooden boardwalk, you’ll find a collection of historic totem replicas and the Chief Shakes Tribal House.
Nearby, the small city-owned totem park, Kiksetti, showcases four hand-carved totem replicas. The Chief Shakes gravesite, marked with two orca totem poles and protected by a white picket fence, is a short walk up the hill.
You might want to drive to Petroglyph Beach State Historic Park, about a mile from downtown. In contrast to pictographs, petroglyphs are designs that are pecked or ground into a rock surface, not painted on. More than 40 can be found scattered along the beach, some possibly as old as 8,000 years. There’s a nice elevated viewing platform with information and a few replicas for visitors to make paper rubbings so as not to harm the originals. Steps from the platform lead to the beach.
My favorite discovery in town turned out to be the Wrangell Museum, housed in the new James and Elsie Nolan Center downtown, with its extensive exhibits that cover everything from the fur trade and the Gold Rush to logging and Tlingit history. I started my visit watching a 10-minute movie about southeast Alaskan natives and the history of Wrangell when I learned that the town is the only place in Alaska to have been governed by four nations: the Stikine Tlingits, Russia, Great Britain and the United States.
Museum highlights include a clan house, a native basket collection and more than 5,000 photos from the days of the Russian occupation. But the most prized items are the original Chief Shakes house posts, more than 200 years old and the oldest in Alaska.
I liked the “Pick a Pelt” display in the fur-trading area, where nine different pelts were laid out on lift-up boards (underneath is a picture and description of each animal). There’s also a nice gift shop with many local handcrafted items as well as books appropriate for the area.
Naturally, there’s a ferocious-looking stuffed bear on display at the Wrangell Museum. But I wasn’t impressed. I’d seen the real thing.
For More Information
Alaska Marine Highway System
800-642-0066
www.ferryalaska.com
Wrangell Convention and Visitor Bureau
800-367-9745
www.wrangell.com
Good Sam Parks
Alaska has 36 Good Sam Parks. Consult the 2010 Trailer Life RV Parks and Campgrounds Directory for their locations or visit
www.goodsamclub.com.