From Potter Marsh to Seward

If the Tony Knowles Coastal Trail receives the title of most scenic multiuse shared path in the nation, the segment of U.S. Highway 1 South, or Seward Highway, from Rabbit Creek Road to Portage is the most scenic stretch in the country. Driving along the Turnagain Arm, tops covered with bright white snow, the everlasting black basalt peaks raise from the cold waters of the Cook Inlet to greet one's eyes.

Focus your binoculars at Potters Marsh or set up your tripod on the boardwalk at Mile 117 where you can easily spot Tundra and Trumpeter Swans, Snow Goose, Northern Shovelers, Mallards, and hundreds of nesting waterfowl or spot spawning salmon. It was hard to stay on the road, as one is tempted to stop and contemplate in owe the ravishingly pristine beauty of Turnagain Arm.

The scenery swipes you off your feet like falling in love for the first time. It makes you pause. If you have never experienced true love, you will at any of the viewing spots along the road. And if you have, prepare to reconsider its meaning. This is the type of love that uplifts the spirit. It was actually difficult to pay attention to traffic and road signs, as the eyes tended to wonder on their own dance. I was lucky to visit off season and have the road all to myself. In the face of such majestic beauty, I repeatedly cried -- and I have traveled a plenty to some of the world's most sacred jewels, including the Amazon Rain Forest.

At Mile 115, I parked and headed to the Turnagain Arm Trail. The gentle and wide trail contours the mountainside and offers sweeping views of the Cook Inlet through the trees. The next stop point was at McHugh Creek (Mile 111) where I stopped at the picnic area near a waterfall and ate my pickles and pineapple lunch. In spite of my dietary restrictions, the purity of the air and the spectacular views kept me energized.

Just as I decided to keep moving, I had to stop again at Beluga Point (Mile 110). Although I did not spot any Beluga Whales which are said to come in with the tide and soak, the 270-degree views of Cook Inlet made me weep.

My next stop was at Windy Point (Mile 106) where I spotted Dall Sheep along the highway's rocky cliff and grazing along the road's edge. There is a reason why this sightseeing spot is called Windy Point. The wind traveling through towering mountains in opposite directions confluences at this spot. You feel like walking on zero gravity. A guy in a motorcycle stopped.

"What the heck?" He said while the sweeping wind carried him off his Harley Davidson.

I could not open Tango's door. The guy approached me feet barely touching the ground like astronauts do when walking on the surface of the moon.

"Today is just a mild breeze," he said.

It took the two of us to open the door of the red ford Fiesta and keep it open long enough for me to squeeze inside the car. I don't recommend this spot if you are traveling with a walker or have a bad hip. The wind will surely make you fall.

I then stopped at Bird Point (Mile 99) and strolled on the boardwalk to gush on soul-altering mountain and inlet views and get a glimpse of the bore tide, a tidal phenomenon in which the leading edge of the incoming tide forms a wave (or waves) of water that travel up a river or narrow bay against the direction of the river or bay current.

As the sun finally decided to pierce through the clouds, I diverted my trip in Girdwood and headed to the Alyeska Hotel, Alaska's premier resort and the home of the Alyeska Tram where one gets a bird's eye view 2,000 feet up along Mount Alyeska with dining, hiking, skiing and glacier viewing atop. I used the Alyeska Tram gift certificate the gentlemen at the airport had given me for my 60th birthday and headed up to the top of Mount Alyeska. Since I cannot eat in restaurants due to my dietary needs --who wants to eat a salad without dressing at the top of a glacier?-- nor do I snow ski, I am a creature of the sea, and I was not dressed for the temperature at such altitude, I just took the ride among clouds, sat back and enjoyed. Traveling up in a tram suspended from cables enveloped by dense fog interspersed with windows of sun piercing through to illuminate a majestic view of the forest coating the mountain slopes was perhaps more mysteriously spectacular than doing so in a day with clear views. It reminded me of a childhood adventure in the tram climbing Pico Bolivar in the Venezuelan Andes.

After the tram expedition, I continued my drive towards Seward, hoping to arrive before sunset to either take a day cruise into Resurrection Bay and photograph whales, otters, and glaciers, visit the Seward Lodge set in a cottonwood forest in a glacier valley along the winding road to Exit Glacier, or visit the Alaska Sealife Center. Instead of proceeding with my plan, I stopped at Portage (Mile 80) where I spotted the Alaska Wildlife Conservation Center and decided to return the next day to visit the center and the Town of Whittier, a place that have come to my attention twice, during my flight to Alaska and via my friend Leticia.

Since I was already there and spontaneity is my middle name, I took Exit 79 and paid a visit to the Begich Boggs Visitor Center, where I took the one-hour tour boat excursion on Portage Lake offered by a commercial company through a special use permit with the Forest Service and had the opportunity to see Portage Glacier up close. The Forest Service interpreters provided information about glaciers and their effects on life and the landscape, and I was able to touch a floating iceberg along the coast of Portage Lake.

Back on Seward Highway, I stopped a last time to hike down to a creek. This hike offered the most spectacular scenery I had ever seen. Although I enjoyed the striking vistas and panoramic views overlaid with snowed mountain tops, ochre leaves, pine forests and opulent tundra dreams, by the time I got to Seward it was too late. I was not able to visit the Alaska Sealife Center, Resurrection Bay, or Seward Windsong Lodge. There is only so much adventure one can pack on a single 24-hour day.

I may have left my heart in the Castro Area in San Francisco back in the 1980s, but surely, I left a piece of my soul in Alaska's Turnagain Arm. On my way back to Anchorage, eyes overflowed with the splashing beauty of everlasting sights, I promised to continue to explore this enthralling land until the day I die.

If there is something one gains from witnessing black basalt rock raising from the sea and tall mountain tops covered with glassy ice is perspective. We are so minute, barely a point in the vastness of the Earth, let alone the universe.

As I stand on this land with juxtaposed dreams, ice shields retreat and glaciers melt, dissolving the habitat of the beauteous tundra inhabitants, I leave my ephemeral footprints on this sacred patch of earth. At one time, hunters followed mammoth herds across an ice bridge and populated the Americas. Today, ghost towns that once prospered, rest reduced to broken foundations and piles of debris, whisper a cry in the wind buried in coastal mudflats.

It was an introspective and reflective birthday, indeed. Like bear, I needed to retreat from my daily whereabouts and hibernate in the solitude that only this terrain can offer. A solitude that reminds me that I am never alone. I am one with the crispy carpet of brown leaves, one with the ochre hues of Alaska's fall, one with the call of moose, one with the rushing turquoise waters of Glacier Creek, one with salmon, eagle and bear, and one with everything that is.

I am so blessed for being aware. The best birthday present anyone can receive is the Gift of Awareness. After all, the only thing one can control is the development of one's awareness.