The Goods Are Odd
The Goods Are Odd but the Odds Are Good: A Magical Voyage to Kachemak Bay State Park
Words by Pepper Cook
Photos by Amanda Bryan and Pepper Cook
I met one of my dearest adventure partners, Amanda Bryan, at a bikepacking conference several years ago. That chance encounter spurred what I hope will be a long-lasting tradition of swapping turns organizing an incredible bikepacking journey for each other every year. Last year, Amanda went above and beyond with an incredible wine-tasting and oyster-gobbling campapalooza all over the San Juan islands off Washington coast, so I knew I had to go big this year.
A year and a half ago, I came to Anchorage, Alaska on a seasonal job and very quickly realized I would never be able to live anywhere else. There’s a saying here: “Alaska doesn’t so much grow on you as it makes you unfit to live anywhere else.” This place is like nowhere else I’ve ever lived or bike toured, which includes Australia, New Zealand (my mother’s homeland), South Africa, Iceland, Peru, and Mexico, among other places. After searching far and wide, I’d found my forever home and I knew I had to share it with one of my best friends.
One of my other favorite sayings about Alaska is, “the goods are odd, but the odds are good,” which refers to our wacky dating scene in which we have a small population of very interesting, independent, different types of folks who enjoy solitude, homesteading and/or leaving to work on a boat or in the Arctic for months at a time. I also like this saying for the bike adventuring here as well, because while there may not be a lot of roads in Alaska, the bike trips here can include things like float planes, dog teams, water taxis, packrafts, cross-country skis, and many other vehicles to assist in a truly epic trail experience. The trips can be odd, different, and magical but you know you’ll always get the goods.
One of the things I loved most about Amanda’s San Juan winery adventure was how fun it was to load the bikes on and off the ferries. To me, the ferries seem almost like an awesome little free library where instead of books you have a 40-minute chance to make friends with locals and hear their stories while getting local trail knowledge. I knew our Alaska adventure had to include some water travel, so I asked around.
One of my coworkers told me about a place called Seldovia on the edge of the wild and gorgeous Kachemak Bay State Park. Our arctic EMT schedules mean working 13 hours every day for 14 days straight, so we are flown in and out of work on a rotational schedule. This is perfect for adventuring by bike on my two weeks off. My amazing work colleagues are always keeping their ears open for my next adventure, and they know my favorite thing to ride is “junky gravel roads.” They told me about Mako, a person in Homer, Alaska who operates a water taxi over to a dock in Jakolof Bay. This would be the launching point for our trip to Seldovia.
Amanda flew up to Anchorage with a fully loaded Kona hardtail and we squished her rig next to my titanium Salsa Timberjack and all our gear into the back of my twenty-year-old Subaru to begin the drive south to Homer.
We arrived in Homer that evening and set up camp on the Homer Spit. Next, we strolled down to the infamous Salty Dog Saloon, an extraordinarily popular dive bar that’s usually packed with local fisherfolks and ocean researchers. It’s the type of place where the ceiling is covered in dollar bills and you always make a friend or two. We sat down at a table with a couple of drinks and proceeded to chat with a researcher at the table next to us. Within five minutes of discovering that we were headed to Seldovia by bike, they had given us the phone numbers of their sisters and friends who lived in Seldovia in case “anything happened or we needed a drinking buddy.”
The next morning, we did a quick grocery store mission and swung past Cycle Logical, the local bike shop with the friendliest and most helpful mechanic I’ve encountered in years. Amanda got a few bits sorted on her bike that had shaken loose or gone missing during her travels from Washington and we headed back to the Spit to pack up our bikes and get on the water taxi to Jakolof Bay, where we’d have three days to explore.
Lance, our captain, helped us load our rigs onto the tiny boat and asked us where we were headed. I admitted we weren’t exactly sure of our route, but we were going over to explore Jakolof Bay Road to Seldovia, had a couple of days to fill, and were open to suggestions. He was incredibly helpful and got our eyes on some maps to show us Red Mountain Road, an overgrown two track up to an old chromite mine that used to be called Queen Chrome Mine and is now referred to as Red Mountain Mine. Lance told us there was a campground there but that it would involve some creek crossings and a lot of hike-a-bike. We also met another wonderful friend named Maria (pronounced MAH-ria) who gave us her phone number and directions to her house, as the forecast was grim — another display of incredible Alaskan hospitality. We dropped off Maria at a remote beach near her cabin, and Lance lowered a painting ladder from a hardware store down into the sand so she could disembark.
We landed at Jakolof Bay, said goodbye to Lance, and started our ten-mile ride up the rolling, hilly gravel road to the fishing village of Seldovia. Upon arrival, we went for some chowder at a local cafe called Jack and Aiva. The owner insisted we take a free loaf of his fresh bread to our campsite and told us how to ride to Outside Beach Campground. He told us to make sure we strung up our food far from camp, as the area is overrun with curious black bears. We also asked where the best spot was for a tasty drink before camp. He sent us next door to a well-known and beloved bar called the Linwood, where we drank with some fun locals and I painted watercolor scenes from our trip so far. When Amanda gets to camp, she likes to drop her gear and immediately go off to explore, while I like to sit and stare at stuff and paint, so we make a good team.
We finished some almost-too-generously poured Bloody Marys and got on our bikes for the short ride up the hill out of town to camp at Outside Beach. We were warned to pitch tents well above the tidal line, as the tides in Alaska run extremely fast and can devour your whole campsite with little to no warning. We settled in for a dinner of bread, cheese, smoked salmon, sausage, avocado, and dates. Amanda went for a walk and I sat down to paint some more watercolor scenes. We went to sleep listening to the roar of the ocean after hanging a bear bag far and high.
The next morning, we woke up and drank coffee as we watched the waves. Then we packed and began up the winding hilly gravel road back the way we came, past Jakolof Bay, and started the climb to Red Mountain Mine. As promised, there were some water crossings and walking, but nothing deeper than our shins and the hike-a-bike was much shorter than we had been expecting. Also, because I had watched the weather for weeks and insisted Amanda bring every piece of waterproof gear she could possibly pack, we had absolutely bluebird skies the entire trip. We also brought several cans of bear spray and bells, so naturally we did not see a single animal aside from some eagles and otters the entire trip.
We made it up to Red Mountain Mine in great time, passing a couple hiking up to hunt goats and a lovely older couple whom Amanda later spoke with when they hiked into camp shortly after we arrived. They told her the history of the mine after she went to explore, while I painted some of our camp scenes. The campsite itself was incredible, perched right on the edge of a sparkling, winding creek, and set in the very back of a valley surrounded by the aptly named rust-colored peaks that make up Red Mountain Mine. The Autumn colors were amazing and very fun to paint and explore. We had rice and curry for dinner, along with a couple of horrible Jell-O shots we found deep in our frame bags.
The next day, we began the descent to catch our water taxi back to Homer. I calculated that between the river crossings and a potential fall or mechanical issue, we’d need about three hours maximum to make it on time for our water taxi. It would have been a problem if we missed it, as there was no cell phone reception for the entire trip so rescheduling would have been difficult. The descent took less than an hour as we bashed through dew-soaked Alder bushes. At the bottom, we stripped off our soaked outer layers and dried off in the sun for a bit.
We still arrived at the dock several hours early, so we spoke with some local fisherfolks and watched sea otters play in the bay while we heated water for coffee. About 15 minutes later, a brightly painted watercraft appeared at the mouth of the bay, and we quickly packed up on the off chance it was an earlier water taxi. It was indeed, and the captain had no issues with us boarding early but informed us that his other passengers were getting dropped off at a remote beach to access a yurt for their weekend, so we would have to go on a coastal tour instead of straight back to Homer. We were absolutely thrilled, and we enjoyed a spectacular sightseeing cruise all along the remote coast of Kachemak Bay State Park.
We arrived in Homer a couple hours earlier than planned under a blue sky with the sun still shining contrary to the dreary forecast that never came to fruition. We drove back to Anchorage, where we put some pizzas in the oven, Amanda packed up, and we snoozed nice and early. Amanda went home to Bellingham the next morning, where I can only hope she is busy planning our next winery campapalooza.
-