Touching the Ancient One

Our Great 2007 Alaska Book-Signing Tour

August 10, 2007

This took a little longer than I'd thought it would. Thanks for waiting. Calling our Alaska trip a “book-signing tour” might be overstating it a bit since Millie and I would have returned even if there was no book. Alaska is in my blood and I believe Millie is infected as well. That’s not a bad thing at all, except that the long flights to and from “America’s last frontier” seem to get harder each time. The fact that we’re willing to endure such discomfort says something about our desire to be there. Anyway, I’m calling our trip a “book-signing tour,” and I’ll tell you about that; I’ll also tell you other things about the trip, making it sort of a travel guide within the story. 

On Thursday, July 12, after a two-hour Delta flight from Albany to Cincinnati and another seven-hour flight to Anchorage, we picked up our rental car and drove the short distance (1-2 miles) to Lake Hood Inn, the same accommodations we had in 2004. This time we were to stay two nights before heading out to other places. Owner Bill Floyd had left us a note. He was out somewhere but would be back soon. We settled in, watching the floatplanes taking off and landing on the lake. It seems like every home or building around the shoreline has a floatplane tied up beside it. Bill soon returned and we spent some time catching up on the past three years. At ten-thirty, we hit the sack, having to pull shades against the still-bright sun.

I’d brought photographs and wanted a display board on which to mount them. On Friday, we found just what we needed at Office Max. We stopped at the Title Wave Bookstore where I was scheduled for a signing on Sunday. We introduced ourselves to Katie Hecker with whom I had made the signing arrangements, and then looked the store over. The largest independent bookstore in Alaska has shelf-after-shelf of Alaska books. Alaska seems to attract writers and other creative people—or produces them, I’m not certain which. The raw material for inspiration is certainly everywhere.

We had lunch with some friends at George Brown’s Lucky Wishbone Restaurant in northern Anchorage, near Merrill Field. We had been told that it has the best diner food in Anchorage and I’m convinced that is true. Full of aviators and other local people, there was lots of banter back and forth. Conversations were interesting, to say the least. George, now well into his eighties, started the restaurant in 1955. He still runs it, not only the management end, but cooking and other day-to-day requirements as well. His energy and enthusiasm are apparent. He has read my book and remembers the accident on which it is based. He introduced us around to several of the other patrons.

That afternoon we drove east up Rabbit Creek Road to a residential section that lies prominently on the western slopes of the mountains. As on earlier trips we were amazed by the many large and luxurious homes with beautiful manicured lawns, an area that seemed an anomaly, considering its proximity to extensive wilderness. That evening we ate at Gwennies Old Alaska Restaurant on Spenard Road. Although the food was good, we ate sparingly, our stomachs still working on the Lucky Wishbone fare.

The following morning Bill’s floatplane was gone, so we knew he was off on an adventure somewhere. We left for Palmer about 9 a.m. We decided to get off Route 1 and take the Old Glen Highway section north of Eklutna. We wanted to locate the River Crest Manor B & B on that route, but basically wanted to get the flavor of “Old Alaska.” My book-signing was scheduled for eleven o’clock at the Fireside Bookstore. We got into town a little early, drove around awhile, went to the Visitors Center, and admired the adjacent flower gardens. The flowers and plants there are huge and bursting with color, the result of long summer days.

At about ten-thirty we decided it was time to go to the Fireside. We were surprised to find the whole street in front of the store under construction with the only access through the back door. David Cheezem, the owner, apologized for the mess and said he had to move the signing location to the Vagabond Blue Café a block away. It turned out to be a good location, a gathering place for locals, as well as a draw for tourists. We were on a bandstand in a corner of the large room. David did a good job of publicizing the event and The Frontiersman had mentioned the signing in its “What’s Happening” column the day before. In addition, Will Elliott’s article about our Alaska tour had also appeared in The Frontiersman in a timely fashion. I wasn’t sure what to expect and had no way of judging if an in-store signing would have been better or not. I had thought there would be local interest because our accident had happened in that region of Alaska and that many would remember it. One couple did remember. The book seems to ignite discussion on a variety of subjects such as survival, the military, writing, and feelings. I found myself somewhat drained when we made our way to the B & B later that afternoon. We chatted with our hosts before returning to Palmer for dinner at the Forty-Niner Diner. Sunday morning our hosts left for church with instructions for us to lock up when we left. We had also decided to go to church and drove to Wasilla to find a Methodist church our hosts had told us about. There were about fifty in attendance at the Christ First United Methodist Church. We were invited to stay for after-service fellowship but had to decline because we were due at the Title Wave Bookstore in Anchorage for the one o’clock signing.

Katie put us up in the front of the store with a big sign. It was an excellent spot. Traffic was heavy and never let up the whole time we were there. The café adjacent to our location probably helped. Alerted by a friend, Roberta Degenhardt, Lavelle Betz, and Carol Comeau, three members of the women pilot’s group, the Alaska Ninety-Nines, came by and entertained us with their own tales of “deeds of daring.” They bought books and drew many others in the store to our spot. They insisted that I pose for a photograph with them. Dee Hanson, Executive Director of the Alaska Airmen’s Association spent several minutes with us and took pictures. Tom Stagg, father of Tom Stagg who is the writer and producer of Portrait of a Legend: Talkeetna’s Cliff Hudson, dropped by to chat and buy a book. We were reluctant to leave when the time came.

Talkeetna was our destination that evening. Our only stop was in Wasilla at Evangelos Italian Restaurant for dinner. Talkeetna was jumping when we arrived about mid-evening. It was the tail-end of the annual Moose Droppings Festival and events were winding down, however slowly. We had reserved four nights at the Main Street Suites above the Wildflower Café. We overlooked Main Street and all its activities. Quiet it was not—but interesting. It was comfortable, with all the necessities. As usual when we get to Alaska, it takes a little time to get used to the many hours of daylight. We sometimes forget to go to bed. It was nearly midnight when we finally remembered. It was another three hours before the music from across the street finally stopped.

Monday morning we ate at the Roadhouse, as we did every morning we were in Talkeetna. Their main menu consists of two things: Flapjacks with bacon, and scrambled eggs with bacon. You can have regular or half-size of either. Few can finish the regular and some not even the half-size. I generally alternate between a half-size flapjack, which I have to fold over to make it fit (almost) on a large plate, and half-sized portions of eggs. You can always order wonderful muffins and scones, or other delicious fresh-baked goodies. I especially recommend the steering wheel sized (well ... almost) chocolate chip cookies. There are five large tables in two rooms, so people have to sit together. That creates good conversation.

 It was a rest day, which we used to explore once again, the many nooks and crannies of the unique little town. Millie calls Talkeetna “little New York,” referring to the old saying that if you sit on a corner at Times Square long enough “you’ll see the whole world pass by.” We went to the airport to see Jay Hudson, but he was up flying. Ollie was not in town either, we were told, but might be back the next day. The Hudsons are always a part of our visits. Cliff Hudson was the bush pilot who had flown through harsh weather back in 1954 to find our downed C-47. He had then teamed up with Don Sheldon to extract us from the woods below Kesugi Ridge. Don has been dead many years and Cliff is in the Pioneer Home in Palmer. Both men are highly honored in the town. Don Sheldon’s old hanger, donated to the Denali Arts Council, is now a community resource for musicals, movies, art shows, and concerts. There have been recent showings there of The Don Sheldon Story and  Portrait of a Legend: Talkeetna’s Cliff Hudson. Hudson Air Service is the oldest air service in Talkeetna. They celebrated sixty years of operation in 2006. We would try again on Tuesday to see Ollie and Jay.

We had dinner at the Latitude 62 Restaurant. Nancy Trump, owner, sat with us awhile. She had planned for a book-signing on Wednesday at the restaurant, but after consideration, had decided to move it to Village Arts ‘n Crafts, her Main Street gift shop.

Tuesday was the day for our signing at the Veterans Memorial Park on Parks Highway. We arrived at the Mile 147 site exactly at ten o’clock, our appointed time. John Wilber, Denali State Park Head Ranger, was there to greet us. We’d been communicating for months and it was nice to put a face to a friendly voice. He introduced us to Thomas and Michele, volunteer park store managers. They asked me where I’d like to set up and I opted for outside, the mosquitoes being unusually scarce. We put a table, stacks of books, and my picture display next to the permanent display that tells about the crash and rescue just a few miles to the north. It really was an ideal setting with the towering mountains in the background. The Veterans Memorial site has the closest view of Denali from anywhere on Parks Highway. The big mountain was surrounded with clouds that day but the closer ones stood out in sharp relief. Along a path not far away, among other memorials, is the one honoring the men who died in our crash. The large white rock holding the plaque, and the propeller blade behind it were both clearly visible from my position. Tour busses stop every fifteen or twenty minutes. Thomas placed a sign by the memorial rock to direct people back to where we were. Two walkways to the memorial area came from the parking lot and if someone took the path below us and returned the same way, they might never know we were there, nor learn the significance of our presence. John would tell tourists coming our way that they were very lucky, as they had managed to arrive on the only day that year I would be there. Then, I’d tell my story in abbreviated form. We sold lots of books.

John Wilber is an articulate, knowledgeable, and dedicated ranger. He was extremely helpful, not only to me but to everyone who came along. I thought to reward him with a copy of Touching the Ancient One, but he declined, suggesting I might give it to the Park instead. I donated two copies. He stayed with us most of the day. It was a truly wonderful day, despite the sunburn we received sitting outside for so long.

Wednesday was a good day, too. That morning I caught up with my email and web site chores. In Alaska, you take Internet hookups where you can find them. Our B & B didn’t have wireless, but the café across the road did. The signal must have been strong since we were a good hundred feet away. I lost the connection a few times, but for the most part it was fine.

We found Ollie Hudson that morning and had a long talk while sitting in her back yard. She told us about many town happenings and family things. She talked of Cliff’s condition, her four sons, and a trip down to the Kenai Peninsula. It’s my impression that Ollie is the center around which her family and its many interests and enterprises turn.

At one o’clock, I reported to Mary at Village Arts ‘n Crafts. Table, books, photographs, and me were assigned to a position outside by the porch steps. Many locals stopped, but probably more tourists. My brief explanation of the book’s contents was getting more polished by that time. Again, we sold lots of books. That evening Millie, Ollie, and I had dinner at the Talkeetna Lodge on the hill overlooking the town. The food is good, and reasonably priced, considering that rooms there are very expensive. We talked about old times, about Cliff and his medal presentation ceremony held there in 2000, and various other things. Finally, we said our goodbyes.

Thursday morning we left for Healy, eleven miles beyond Denali National Park. We were to stay overnight at the beautiful Denali Dome Home B & B. We had been there once before in 2004. It’s a most unusual structure. Ann and Terry Miller are the hosts. Back in 2004, I had a conversation with Ann, in which I told her about the 1954 airplane crash and the effects it had on my life. This time when I mentioned that I was doing book-signings, she remembered every detail of our previous conversation. She enthusiastically told the other guests about my book and some wanted to purchase a copy. Millie and I had crammed several extra books into our luggage for just such an occasion. Over the years, we have stayed in many wonderful B & Bs and none are finer than the Denali Dome Home. Moreover, the Millers are gracious hosts.

Friday, July 20, we leisurely made our way to Fairbanks, stopping in Nenana for pie and coffee. After leaving Nenana we saw beautiful cloud formations ahead. Millie drove while I kept busy snapping pictures through the windshield. On reaching Fairbanks, we checked in at the Grand View B & B on Ridge Pointe Drive above the city. It was a very warm day and we rested awhile with the overhead fan on. Later, we ate dinner by the Chena River at the Pump House, one of our favorite restaurants in the area.

At noon on Saturday, we arrived at the Tanana Valley Farmers Market where we met John Papp. John and I had been corresponding for some time. He had read my book and had helped by arranging a signing at the market from 12 to 2 and another at the Alaska Air Museum from 4 to 6. This all came about because of Harry Potter. Maria, John’s daughter and manager of Gullivers Books, wanted me for a signing, but our weekend in Fairbanks coincided with the new Harry Potter book release. Another site was needed for my signing. The solution was that Gullivers would sponsor and John would find the place. He took it from there and came up with the two locations. The Market turned out to be a terrific site. The Air Museum is a place visitors should not miss, but our signing did not do quite as well there as at the Farmers Market—perhaps because of the time of day.

Saturday evening was a time of discovery—a new restaurant experience. We invited John to join us for dinner but he had declined because he was waiting for an important telephone call. But he did make a suggestion: the Vallata Restaurant on a road north of Fairbanks about five miles off Farmers Loop. It’s a wonderful restaurant with a varied menu and delicious food. John had called Pat Monaco, the owner, before our arrival and she came and sat with us, telling us her own and the restaurant’s histories; it was an extraordinary evening. We left feeling as if we had gained another friend. Any visitor to Fairbanks should not miss the Vallata Restaurant. Tell Pat that the Pratts sent you.

We drove back to Talkeetna on Sunday. We had rented a log cabin near the Talkeetna River, a nice spot but rather muddy because of two days of rain. We went to the Roadhouse next morning for our usual breakfast before leaving Talkeetna. One of our tablemates asked us what we were doing in Alaska and I told him about our book-signings (I’m getting better at promoting). I directed him next door to the Village Arts ‘n Crafts gift shop which was to open in about ten minutes. He made me promise to wait so I could personalize his book. He bought three copies.

It was still raining when we pulled into Girdwood on the Turnagain Arm, about an hour south of Anchorage. Girdwood is home to the Alyeska Ski Resort, and beautiful in its mountain setting. A restaurant sits high on Mt. Alyeska; the only access is by tram. We would have gone up there for dinner but we thought the visibility would be poor, so we decided to eat in town. Chair 5 was a good choice. I had salmon and Millie had scallops.

It’s a long drive from Girdwood to Homer on the Kenai Peninsula, but we took our time through the mountains and across the flatter land toward Soldotna. After a side-trip to Kenai, we continued down the coast. We saw a moose before reaching Anchor Point. We arrived in Homer at mid-afternoon. It was an hour before check-in time at The Beary Patch B & B, so we drove out on “the Spit,” a long, narrow strip of land extending out into the bay toward the high dark snow-covered mountains on the other side. Fishing vessels were conspicuous. Homer calls itself “the Halibut Capital of the World.” Ferries go out from there to the islands beyond the bay. The spit was somewhat touristy, more so than Homer proper, but abandoned boats and haphazardly put-together buildings offered good photography prospects. Beaches were filled with tents. There were many people, most of them young.

We settled in at the Beary Patch, which sits high up overlooking the bay. We rested and later had dinner at a restaurant not far away. Homer is full of nice restaurants, way out of proportion to the size of the town. We had fish for a second evening in a row.

Wednesday proved to be an interesting day. There are two bookstores in town, the Homer Bookstore selling new books, and the Old Inlet Bookshop selling both new and used. We went into the former and found one copy of Touching the Ancient One. I offered to autograph it, and did. The other store had a copy of Wager With the Wind, Don Sheldon’s biography. I told Andrew, the owner, that I had a book that he might want to add to his inventory. We had two books left and he wanted them both. As I was autographing them, a customer who had been listening said he wanted to buy a copy. So, one of the books passed from my hands to the customer’s without Andrew touching it. He said he was going to order some more.

That afternoon we drove ten miles back up the road to an art gallery our B & B host said we should not miss. We’re glad we made the effort. Up a gravel road nearly a mile off the main road is an art gallery that astounded me. The artist is Norman Lowell. Every section of his gallery is filled with his paintings dating back to the fifties. He and his wife had gone to Alaska to homestead. Their old cabin is still standing, not far from the gallery. When you visit Homer, you must see the Lowell Gallery.

Late in the day we took the road to the end of the bay east of Homer. It’s about twenty miles long and goes up and down and around. When it finally turned to gravel, we turned back. We ate at a fine restaurant about eight miles from Homer. My dinner consisted of two kinds of fish, Salmon and Halibut. Fish three nights in a row? Well—it was the Alaskan coast, and Homer is a fishing village. When you can get fish just off the boat you have to take advantage of the opportunity.

Thursday was a long, long day. We drove back to Anchorage, a six-hour trip, ate dinner (chicken for me this time,) turned in our car at the airport, and got on the plane at eight-thirty. We left at nine o’clock and six hours later arrived in Cincinnati. After a three-hour layover there, we flew another hour and a half to Albany. Tom and Nancy DeVito thoughtfully picked us up. The DeVitos love Alaska too and have so often been a part of our adventures there that when they don’t go with us we miss them greatly. We got home at 1 p.m.

That’s our Alaskan story; the travel, the restaurants, the book-signings, the people we’ve met, the memories we’ve internalized—for now, that is. God willing, we’ll go again. You should too.