Sam Benson's Blog, page 5

Travels in Alaska: The Road North to Denali

We leave Anchorage in a light rain, driving on blacktop with our little rental Nissan wedged between SUVs and big rigs worthy of Ice Road Truckers. The suburbs don't linger, but stoplights do slow us down in Wasilla, where the banner outside a coffeeshop proclaims "Palin Fever!". We hit the liquor store inside the Fred Meyer early in the morning to pick up a bottle of whiskey for our relatives. You don't show up empty-handed in rural Alaska, where the nearest Costco may be over 100 miles away.

Getting off the highway, we snake around back roads and climb slowly toward Hatcher Pass. At Independence Mine State Historic Park, we're almos t the only visitors walking along the wind-whipped trails through a ghostly settlement once gripped by gold fever. The road turns to crunchy gravel before summiting the pass, then sails down into the valley. Hunters in their pick-ups and RVs chew the fat by the roadside. A moose rockets across the road going 30mph, maybe sensing that hunting dogs might soon be hot on its hooves. That quick flash of wildlife is all we'll see of Alaska's megafauna for days.

Grizzlies? Forget about seeing 'em, though signposts in Chugatch State Park warn us off certain barricaded hiking trails along the Eagle River, where bears are chowing down on late salmon runs. Same thing goes for moose in Denali National Park: signs along the main park road tell us to stay out of certain areas of the wilderness, because the beasts are rutting now. (Apparently, they value their privacy.) Almost a week in Alaska, and our wildlife count is still laughably low: 4 fat squirrels, 2 bald eagles, 1 shy snowshoe hare, 1 moose on the run, and zero caribou, bears or Dall sheep.

But in no way is Denali disappointing, even if we can only drive the first 15 miles of the park's winding road into the wilderness. We tumble along the S avage Canyon Trail through a valley cloaked in a rustic palette of autumn colors. Summer has lasted longer than expected, with blue skies and strong sunshine that made putting on the Capilene base layer this morning pointless. None of the dozen straggling hikers on the trail talks very much. We all beam with beatific, even idiotic smiles.

It's mind-boggling how many millions of acres in Alaska are even more remote, remaining almost perfectly in their natural state, than this small river canyon. One human life is not enough to even get to know the Last Frontier. Even John Muir only explored a tiny corner of it, in an obsessive quest to finally prove that glaciers carved the Sierra Nevada. To see those blue-ice glaciers calve into the sea is where we're headed next.

But not before we st op by the park's sled dog kennels to give the canines a scritch (most prefer to just bark at us from atop their little log-cabin doghouses). Then we detour for a late-afternoon hike alongside the railroad tracks down to Horseshoe Lake to see the beaver dam. Oh yes, and grab microbrews at the hilltop Salmon Bake bar. Luckily, we still catch the alpenglow over Denali, the mighty mountain itself, before heading back to bed in Talkeetna, where the howling of a pack of Iditarod dogs rings out as regularly as church bells all night long.

Related links:
Travels in Alaska: A is for Anchorage
American Wilderness: Too Noisy for You?
National Parks in 2010: Looking Forward

Photos: Alaska (Michael Connolly, Jr.)

Travels in Alaska: A is for Anchorage

After navigating the tight corkscrews of Anchorage's airport parking garage, we ease into traffic drifting toward downtown. The first thing we notice are the ancient Subarus turned into all-weather taxis. This is Alaska, and you need a road warrior's car to make it through the winter.

But we're here at the tail end of summer. Good-bye, cruise ship tourists, RV-driving retirees and Asian package tour groups. Hello, shaking yellow aspen trees, arctic winds and riled-up moose in rutting season. Anchorage is draped in a cloud blanket of fog and mist, bracing and salty as any other fishing town up or down the West Coast.

Reminders of w inter are scattered about. A sign on the stairway leading down to the train tracks warns pedestrians not to wear high heels because, "You could be injured or, God forbid, die." Alaskans tell it like it us, without mercy. Nobody is sitting on the brewpub deck overlooking Cook Inlet. A rainbow arcs over the tidal flats at sunset, while skater teens trade money for drugs in Resolution Park below the monument to Captain Cook, who anchored here in the late 18th century.

First Nations were already on the scene for centuries before Europe stumbled across Alaska's chilly coastline. Inside the Anchorage Museum, Native Alaskans and the Smithsonian (the USA's benevolently imperialist cultural curator) put birdskin parkas, spirit masks and weapons on display. TV screens roll endless loops of oral history and sneak peeks of the landscapes in Alaska's wildest places, where most outsiders can't, won't or don't go.

In Alaska's biggest shopping mall, there's a post office so folks can mail back essential supplies to the bush. The cheerful postal clerk says he can't wait for his upcoming trip to Maui. Like most Alaskans, he makes an escape to Alaska's doppelganger, Hawaii, every winter. America's 49th and 50th states are bound together as tightly as siblings, though one proudly calls itself the Last Frontier -- a motto meant to drive folks away, especially "city sissies," as my uncle-in-law calls 'em -- while the other's nickname is the Aloha State, meaning they'll welcome just about anyone.

Anchorage (or , "Los Anchorage," as that same uncle disparagingly calls it, probably for its urban grit reminiscent of LA, my husband theorizes) is a frontier city. Don't believe that? Drive around Lake Hood seaplane base, the world's largest floatplane lake, and watch the planes with pontoons (or in winter, skis) come in for a landing or take off to soar back to the wild places their pilots call home. We stare wide-eyed at the crazy, but brave feats chronicled in the Alaska Aviation Heritage Museum, then scarf down a reindeer hot dog as we watch the short take-offs and landings on the lake. All the while day-dreaming of Denali, our next stop on the road north.

What are your fave spots in Alaska? Let us know by leaving a comment below.

Photos: Anchorage (Michael Connolly, Jr.)

Last-Minute Summer Road Trips in Your Hand

Summer is drawing to a close, but that doesn't mean there isn't time for one last weekend (or week-long) getaway. You won't need a guidebook to do it. Digital travel apps are less expensive, often more up-to-date and ideal for spur-of-the-moment road trips when you just want the facts, ma'am, and not a lot of heavy reading.

If you've got an iPad, iPhone or iPod Touch, check out these travel apps hand-picked by Road Trips for Girlfriends. I was psyched to have my travel app, Viva Las Vegas, Baby!, featured in their round-up of top travel apps. Also check out the huge variety of apps written by my colleagues, from legendary watering holes in Chicago to discovering the flip side of Kansas City.

Speaking of road trips, I'm off to Alaska soon. Stay tuned!

Have a favorite digital travel app you can't live without? Tell us your recommendations by leaving a comment below.

Travel Unplugged: How TripAdvisor, Yelp, Etc., Just Might Ruin Your Next Vacation

User reviews are inescapable these days, whether you're buying a book on Amazon, an app on iTunes or stocking movies in your Netflix queue. Everything, it seems, can be judged and summed up on a scale of 1 to 5 stars. And that's part of what is ruining independent travel these days, at least for me. Here are some reasons why you should consider planning (or just spontaneously taking) your next vacation without consulting TripAdvisor, Yelp or other online ranking sites for hotels, restaurants, etc.

>> MAINSTREAMING. Ever notice how user reviews tend to even out at an average of 3 stars? Sure, there are some that rise above and some that fall below. But overall, what sites like TripAdvisor and Yelp give you is a lot of random data (lotsa noise, little signal) about mostly average places. Places that do a good job of sort of pleasing everyone (ahem, hotel chains) rise to the top, while eclectic and idiosyncratic places get lost in the shuffle. Do you want every trip you take to be as predictably bland as a Motel 6 or Holiday Inn?

>> PROVINCIALISM. I always remind myself that the ranking of any hotel or restaurant online reflects the average American opinion about a place. Would I take the advice of the random assortment on people living on my own block at home about where I should stay or eat on vacation? No. When I travel, I'd like it to be as different from home as possible. Else, where's the surprising joy (and challenge) of being on the road?

Provincialism also gets to the heart of why reviews on TripAdvisor and Yelp are too often unreliable. I've noticed that small-town opinions about global food (let's say, Indian restaurants in Fresno, CA) can be notoriously inaccurate and over-hyped, while big-city travelers (e.g., LA denizens road-tripping up the California coast) believe no sushi bar can compare to back home. Either way, online users rate places based on their own experiences. Who's to say I'll agree?

>> CORRUPTIBILITY. I'm not only talking about the Yelp controversy and allegations about search results being doctored for advertisers. I'm talking about the sheer ease and frequency with which fake reviews are posted by businesses on TripAdvisor and Yelp, easily manipulating their star ratings to be more positive. TripAdvisor is noticeably full of reviews written by online users who have only made 1 contribution to the site, and often those reviews are gushing, 5-star self-promotional marketing ploys. You're not always getting honest traveler's experiences on these sites, obviously.

>> TIME WASTING. TripAdvisor and Yelp can be a colossal waste of time, especially when you're on the road. Many travelers let these online tools become a crutch, for example, if you won't try out a new restaurant without checking Yelp or hesitate to book a hotel without consulting dozens of TripAdvisor reviews. Sure, sometimes you'll end up somewhere not good that these sites could've pointed you away from. But by not sifting through hundreds of online reviews before or during your vacation, you'll experience more of the place you're visiting, first-hand and in the moment.

>> GIVING AWAY OUR POWER. Remember the days when travel agents planned our trips, and had all the power? Most people would understandably rather book their own travel these days. But if you blindly follow whatever TripAdvisor and Yelp recommend, then you're just following the digital crowds, making them your travel agent. The more people use these online rating sites, the more power they have to make or break a business, especially since small, local places often feel the brunt of having no reviews or unfairly poor ratings.

SO WHAT? Am I saying I'll never use TripAdvisor or Yelp again? No. My point is we should use these ratings sites more judiciously. It's time to untether ourselves from our electronic concierges. Spend less time browsing online and more time enjoying travel. Read reviews with a dose of skepticism, and don't be afraid to try a place that hasn't been recommended online. Use online rankings sites to be a voice in support of independent travel by reviewing local businesses, instead of just supporting the Starbucks status quo. Most of all, let yourself rediscover the serendipity of being on the road, with just a map (and not an iPhone) in hand.

What do you think about online ratings sites? Are they always a useful tool when you travel, or not? Let us know by leaving a comment below.

10 Steps to a Perfect Day in Big Sur

On purpose, I didn't title this blog post "10 Steps to the Perfect Day in Big Sur." I'm suspicious of travel writers (or Yelp! reviewers, for that matter) who claim to know what the best of anything is, whether it's fish tacos or Asian art museums. So consider this just one idea among many of how to spend a soul-nourishing summer's day in Big Sur, that remote chunk of California coast that lies south of Monterey and north of well, my house.
Start off with a big ol' breakfast at First Awakenings, a little cafe with a big outdoor patio and a fire pit. It's around the corner from the Monterey Bay Aquarium, but tucked away from the dazed crowds wandering Cannery Row, wondering what John Steinbeck ever saw in the place.Roll down to Carmel-by-the-Sea and stop into Bruno's Market. Head directly to the deli at the back and order a tri-tip sandwich and picnic salads to go. Why? You'll thank me later. Big Sur has notoriously overpriced, often underwhelming food. Besides, eating at the beach is more fun.
Swing by Point Lobos State Reserve (admission $10; open from 8 a.m. until 30 minutes after sunset daily). Stretch your legs on the coastal trails, or at least say hello to the barking sea lions (they're the ones with ears) and spotted harbor seals (no ears).Where everyone else stops to take a photo of Big Sur's iconic Bixby Bridge, you can head inland to explore the original coast highway, now called the Old Coast Road, 11 ocean-view miles of satisfying 4WD and mountain-biking terrain.Or just keep driving south with everyone else, past Point Sur's historic lighthouse (guided tours occasionally available), down to Andrew Molera State Park (near where the Old Coast Road also dumps you back out onto Hwy 1). Give $10 to California State Parks (they need the money!) and park in the lot, near gentle trails that lead to a windy, rocky beach and a grassy campground.Save your parking receipt, because it'll also get you in free to Big Sur's other state parks on the same day. Drive south to Pfeiffer-Big Sur State Park (open 30 minutes before sunrise to 30 minutes after sunset daily). Hop out of the car and hug some redwood trees, then reward yourself with some ice cream from the store at the rustic Big Sur Lodge.
About a half-mile south of the Big Sur ranger station, look for a small turn-off on your right, labeled as 'Narrow Road.' And that's an understatement: be prepared to wind downhill for over 2 twisting miles to reach Pfeiffer Beach (admission $5; open 9 a.m. to 8 p.m. daily). It's famous for two things: a cinematic sea arch battered by pounding surf; and sand that's tinged with purple by manganese garnet that washes down from the hillsides.
If you didn't bring along a picnic lunch, then your next pit stop is Nepenthe, a restaurant hanging in the treetops by the sea. Otherwise, you can double back here later to sip wine and nibble appys as you huddle around the outdoor terrace fire pit and watch the sun get swallowed up by the sea.
Wondering where Big Sur's beatnik spirit has gone? Reconnect with it in the real bohemian grove (of redwoods, that is) at the Henry Miller Memorial Library. I never know what to expect when dropping by: outdoor movies, a musician's jam, or once, an impromptu wedding! Even when nothing special is happening, you can just chill, browse the books and have a cup o' community joe.Still got your state parks entry receipt? Good, because you'll need it once more for Julia Pfeiffer Burns State Park (open 30 minutes before sunrise to 30 minutes after sunset daily). Get out of the car and walk through the tunnel underneath the highway, then hang a right. Keep looking off toward the ocean. You may literally gasp when you glimpse McWay Falls, coastal California's only waterfall that drops into the ocean (well, either that or onto the beach, depending on the tide). There's a lot more I could tell you about Big Sur, from moonlight hot-springs soaks and beachcombing for jade to visiting the California condor bird-banding lab, but I'll have to save that for another day (and another blog post).

What are your fave spots in Big Sur? Tell us by leaving a comment below.

Photo: McWay Falls (Michael Connolly, Jr.)

Doh! Don't Miss the LA Donut Summit on Sunday

What's better for Sunday brunch than a box of classic glazed donuts? How about apple fritters? Or old-fashioned bear claws? The mind boggles with the panoply of choices.

Still can't decide? Well, get yourself to the LA Donut Summit in Griffith Park this Sunday, June 13. It's like a Christmas cookie swap party, except it's ginormous and held outdoors in the sunshine. All you have to do is show up by 1PM at the park's Vermont Avenue picnic area with a box of a dozen donuts from a local shop (for suggestions, click here). Public tasting and judging begins around 1:30PM, with Donut Marshalls (hey, how do I get that job?) supervising the cutting up of donuts so that everyone gets a taste of more than just 12 flavors.

Confused about exactly how all this deliciousness works? Check out the 2010 Donut Summit FAQ or follow 'em on Twitter to get all the late-breaking news.

Photo credit: Michael Connolly, Jr.

Get Outside! National Parks Free This Weekend (& Later This Summer, Too)

Recently, I've been outside, hiking all over southern Utah and making the most of that glorious weather window between spring and summer. You know, when it's not too unbearably hot in the desert badlands, yet the mountainous high country is just starting to open after snow melt. Now here's your excuse to get out there and do the same.

All US national parks are free-free this weekend. About 75% of NPS sites usually don't charge admission anyway. But for the 100 or so that do (including top-tier parks such as Yosemite, Yellowstone, the Grand Canyon or Zion), you'll be saving yourself $20 to $25 a carload. Who can resist the call of the wild when it's free?

If you miss this fee-free weekend, don't worry. Just plan your national parks trip for August 14 & 15, the next weekend when admission fees will be waived. (Or September 25, National Public Lands Day, by which time the crushing summer crowds will have left.)

Photo credit: Bryce Canyon NP (Michael Connolly, Jr.)