It's a 170-mile drive from Seward
to Homer -- less than half that by air, but the Kenai Mountains
form a huge barrier in between. And so we headed north on the Seward
Highway the next day, almost halfway to Anchorage, before turning
west and finally south along the Sterling Highway to Homer. The
weather had turned from drizzly to outright rainy overnight, although
we still enjoyed some outstanding scenery that would rival any in
the Lower 48, with shades of the Rockies, Minnesota north woods
and Big Sur highlighting different legs of the drive.
In a few weeks, the Sterling would be among the busiest highways
in the state, due mainly to the Kenai River, which attracts anglers
from around the world for some of the best salmon fishing in Alaska.
Others challenge the river's surging waters on assorted rafting
trips, while RVs by the hundreds fill campgrounds along the wooded
shores. None of that was on our itinerary, but we still made a full
day of the journey, stopping for lunch and a museum visit in Soldotna,
and later in Kenai to see one of the oldest Russian Orthodox churches
in the state. As he would throughout the week, Glenn cooled his
heels several times while I put my trusty Nikons to work.
A gray pall shrouded our view as we descended the long grade into
Homer, but the next day dawned gloriously blue here along the southwest
shore of the Kenai. The Creator was clearly having a good day when
he set the stage for this town, home to 4100 lucky souls who reside
in what's surely one of the great beauty spots on the continent.
There's something mystic when the sun glints off the bluish-white
glaciers oozing down from the Kenai Mountains, while tree-cloaked
isles and headlands seem to levitate on the aqua blue waters of
Kachemak Bay.
So it looked from Homer Spit, a skinny, serpentine peninsula that
is the focal point of the local tourist scene. Four miles long and
a quarter mile wide at most, "the Spit" has dozens of
gift shops, diners, fishing charters and other tourist-friendly
businesses, plus a good-sized marina, filled with pleasure boats
and a huge fleet of charter and commercial fishing craft.
We came here in hopes of boating over to Halibut Cove, a tiny hamlet
about five miles across the bay and by all accounts a scenic jewel
not to be missed. A postcard perfect boardwalk, art galleries and
incredibly lush surroundings highlight the secluded village, described
in one guidebook as "enchanting" and "unbelievably
beautiful." We'd also see Gull Island with its prolific seagull
rookery, which the boat swings past during its daily runs across
the bay.
Alas, only one boat serves the cove, the Danny J, whose season wouldn't
begin for a few more days, and so we revised plans. Instead we drove
a dozen miles out East End Road, taking in stupendous views across
Kachemak Bay and the mountains that rise nearly a mile high behind
it. Mile per mile, this may be the most scenic drive I've ever done,
and before long Glenn was musing about local home prices and a potential
lifestyle change for his family. I could see why, though we quickly
decided we may want to come back, say, in December before making
any firm decisions. As it was, the day was pleasantly brisk, topping
out in the middle 50s, with a fresh onshore breeze that kept our
coats zipped as the afternoon fog rolled down the bay ... San Francisco
with a sub-Arctic touch.
The soupy gray stuck around the next morning as we turned our sights
indoors, beginning with the Pratt Museum, perhaps the finest of
its ilk I've seen in a small town; the smartly designed displays
on local fishing, history and marine life equaled those you'd find
in many big-city museums. Most compelling was "Darkened Waters,"
with its in-depth, evenhanded account of the Valdez debacle and
its aftereffects.
Even Exxon's corporate brass received a fair shake from the exhibit,
which gave voice to all sides of this sorry chapter in state history.
We also stopped at the Alaska Islands and Ocean Visitor Center,
an outsized, super-modern complex with lots of nice displays on
local marine life, birds and other fauna, with a sweeping view across
the bay. The real attraction, I thought, was the web of footpaths
through the adjacent wetlands.
With only a few days in town, there was no way to try all the local
dining, but a couple of spots did stand out. One was Café
Cups, which melded fine dining with a relaxed atmosphere and a funky,
only-in-Homer decor. It was hard to miss, with assorted coffee cups
and other dishes welded right into the brightly colored façade,
belying the pricey cuisine inside. They had a tempting list of steak
and seafood specials averaging about $20, and a dessert cart for
the ages; I'd need a long walk around town that night to work off
the raspberry cheesecake.
Less pricey and thoroughly unpretentious was Finn's, located near
the end of the Spit, where we filled up on tasty wood-fired pizza
for around $10. The view, though, was utterly priceless, with a
deserted beach and the wind-whipped bay outside our window with
wooded headlands and snow-crowned peaks in the distance. As an extra
thrill, several bald eagles joined the ubiquitous seagulls riding
the air currents over the bay. One even accompanied us on our way
back to town, flying in perfect pace alongside our car for several
minutes as we drove down the Spit.
We could have spent a month, or longer, in Homer, we agreed as we
made our reluctant way back to Anchorage.
En route, we detoured to Portage Lake and took the short boat ride
across its inky waters to Portage Glacier. It was another gray day
but as we'd learned by now, that actually enhanced the color of
the glacier, turning it aqua blue as opposed to the standard-issue
white. It was our third glacier in less than a week, but we remained
properly awed as boxcar-size chunks of ice crashed into the lake
with a massive thud. |
