Nome, Alaska: Last Chance to Spot Musk Oxen, Kougarok Road

Also called “Beam” or “Taylor” road, the slick mud and gravel twists across colorful tundra and snakes up through the heart of the Kigluaik Mountains. We are sure to spot Musk Ox. These beasts have grown to a population of 2,000 after 70 of them were transplanted here in the last 30 years. Moose, reindeer, caribou and grizzlies could appear as well. We have 73 one-way miles to travel on a tundra blazing with rainbows.

Hunting, fishing and mining shacks sit in this nowhere. Road construction seems the only activity this August. Hard to believe that within 30 days the change in season will blanket the volcanic tundra with ice and snow.

All rental cars in Nome come with 4-wheel drive. We understand why. Especially after turning off on a side road a few miles beyond Salmon Lake. We’re climbing a road on top of black lava rock, which provides a dark contrast for bright flowers. Throw’er into 4-wheel on the way to Pilgrim Hot Springs.

Mare steps easy wearing those sexy water boots, through large puddles in front of the car. She makes sure of no really, really deep holes…could be funny to see her submerge four or five feet.

On the other side of the mountain the terrain transforms to lush forest. Looks like a lovely place for Musk Oxen. We park near a gate, and walk through the trees, surrounded by steaming ponds. A few geologists conduct research here.

“This machine drills 2-inch pipe 200 feet into the ground in 2 hours,” a worker says. We’re hoping to find a geothermal hot spot that could provide electrical power to Nome.”

The path leads to an abandoned church and some dilapidated buildings. The Pilgrim Hot Springs caretaker emerges from a shack. He explains that in the 1800′s a man farmed this land year-round. The boiling waters make it possible. When the farmer died, the Catholic church gained the ground and opened an orphanage for children whose parents were wiped out by the 1918 influenza epidemic. “They cut down all the trees for firewood, but you can see they grew back.”

Hot springs in the tundra? Mosquitoes zoom in on us and I notice a can of bear pepper spray dangling from a worker’s belt. Soon, we spot a platform supporting a steaming metal tub. I strip down, slap bugs, and try to submerge. Too hot! I feel blisters form on the bottom of my feet. Mare snaps a photo of me in my underwear, which will not be published here because it looks like a pathetic Viagra commercial.

We spin four wheels back through the small lakes and continue the quest to the end of the road. We turn around at the anticlimactic end, with one last chance to spot the Musk Ox during the ride back. Although we spot nothing but construction trucks, the tundra’s terrain puts us in a trance. 

Okay, back in town, we ask at the visitor’s center where to find the rogue gold panners? “Down on west beach. Past the containers.  They ran them off of east beach,” says the portly brunette. So we go, manuvering through the town, past cargo docks and around storage containers, through the mud and debris trying to find the beach. Whoopee! Not a gold miner in sight, but a whole herd of the ellusive magnificent beasts. Yes, after driving over 300 miles of tundra, we spot the Musk Oxen  a mile outside of town. They bring us to tears, resembling our deceased dog, “Runt” who had all but the tusks. 

We celebrate in a smoky bar until our eyes can take no more. Let’s take a six-pack, sushi and some spaghetti back to our luxurious room over-looking the Bering Sea.

Nome, Alaska: Three Roads to Roam

Get to Nome by air, sea, or Iditarod – the 1100 mile dogsled race that begins in Anchorage. Mare and I take the slow ferry to Juneau, a pleasant ride through the inside passage and past whales.

The following day, two flights later we will land in Nome. For now, we cannot wait for the luxury of a hotel room. Not so fast…The Alaskan Hotel in Juneau proves a flophouse for junkies and alcoholics.

“Come look at my brother,” says a long-haired,bearded man with a strong accent. He stands on the paisley lined hallway and opens the door to a dingy room. I spot two young guys without shirts, lying perpendicular on a small bed, snoring.

“Nice, are you from Russia?” What else can I say?

“No, Poland!” He grabs one of many half-full bottles of vodka strewn about the room amidst some small pipes. ”Nastrovia!” He gulps from the bottle and tries to hand it to me. ”No thanks.” I continue down the hallway to the shared bathroom.

Drunks revel outside our window and in adjacent rooms until three o’clock in the morning. My pillow is as flat as a communion  wafer. Mare tries to keep the blankets away from her face. Suddenly we miss our primitive cabin in the woods.

The airplane seats begin at aisle 16…with a wall dividing the front of the plane for cargo and the back for passengers. We soar above over massive glaciers that snake around mountains like frozen rivers.

We find our elusive luxury at the Aurora Inn in Nome. Splurge! Sit on a couch, after living for four months on a picnic table and plastic chairs…plop on a big bed with fluffy pillows…got some catching up to do. We moan in ecstasy and haven’t even gone into the bedroom yet. Outside of our bay window, clouds and rain enhance the whitecaps of a black-green Bering Sea. We break into a celebratory dance. I can see Russia from my house…not really. Still, we cannot stop from staring at the sea.

We force ourselves to leave this comfort in search of food and drink. We roam around Nome and notice weather-beaten dwellings with evidence of sustenance living decorating the yards. Hunting, fishing and gold panning all require four-wheel drive vehicles.

Nome has few restaurants, but many smoke-filled bars. A number of natives from the three Eskimo cultural groups stagger down the streets in an alcoholic haze. We cop a pizza topped with reindeer, and a six-pack to bring back to our heavenly room. I mean, we have a kitchen, lights, and a flushing toilet to enjoy.

Rent a car in the morning and stock up on groceries, including a can of spam and a dozen eggs. Within five minutes, we bounce along the remote tundra road. The terrain amazes us, so different from trees and fiords. Seventy-four miles later, we reach the Eskimo Village of Teller, where the Inupiaq Community thrives on fishing. Salmon dries on wooden racks next to floatation vests that read, “Children don’t float. Please use one.”

We revel for reaching the end of the westernmost road on the North American Continent, only 12 miles from Russia’s Big Diomede Island.

The drive takes us back down the slippery silicone road where maroon, yellow and orange colors blanket the spongy tundra. Snow and ice will cover this carpet for the next nine months. Our expectations of spotting herds of Musk Oxen, Reindeer and Caribou will have to wait. 

We do, however, spot a skinned Musk Oxen, pummeled and picked apart by predators. We chase away the scavenging birds from the dead animal’s skull, which just happens to compliment a beautiful bouquet of tundra colors.