We were on an expedition to find some roots. That is, family roots. Or at least to find the lodge built by my wife's late brother. Her brother, Jim Adams, had gone to Alaska in the 1960's, started a construction business, and while there built a lodge on Lake Louise. We were going to find the lodge and spend a few nights there. The Internet yielded the website for the lodge and accepted our reservations on-line. It was a late summer morning when we left Anchorage for Lake Louise. We followed the Glenn Highway from Palmer and pulled over to the side of the road to view the Matanuska Glacier on the way before getting on the gravel road to the lodge. The road to the lodge was a well maintained twenty mile stretch of gravel road. One of the things you immediately notice in rural Alaska is the lack of utility poles.
As we approached the Point Lodge we saw the building housing the generator for the lodge. If you want any electricity in rural Alaska you have to make it yourself. The area we were in was still being homesteaded in the 1950's, and we would later meet one of the homesteaders. The lodge sat on a point of land jutting out into Lake Louise, which was named for an army captain's wife. There were several other out buildings, some cabins, and a nice gravel parking lot. The lodge was a two-story structure with a glassed-in area facing the lake on a gentle treeless slop to the dock on the lakefront. We entered the huge lobby cum public living area expecting to see a myriad of mounted wildlife heads on the walls, but the decor was more about boats and water related sports. There was a chubby friendly tabby named L. J. that added an extra touch of coziness to the room. The lodge was originally named Point of View Lodge by Jim Adams when he built it, but the current owners had shortened it to The Point Lodge. We stowed our stuff in our comfortable upstairs room overlooking the lake, there are only 13 rooms, and went out to explore. There was a collection of small marine engines in the lobby as well mounted specimens of Arctic fox and other small animals, which I found interesting. Over the huge stone fireplace was a painting of a bald eagle. We found that there were canoes available for use, so we grabbed the PFDs and paddles and went down to the lake.
The water was like glass on this sunny day. The canoe sliced through the water as we paddled in semi-synchronicity. I say semi, because I am not a creature of grace and prefer vehicles with a bit more stability than a canoe. It was great, with puffy white clouds overhead and the smell of clean air. Lake Louise had once been the site of a U. S. Army recreation area built toward the end of WWII. In fact, General Dwight D. Eisenhower had once vacationed there. There is still the recreation area, but it is no longer under the auspices of the U. S. Army. Prior to going to dinner at the lodge (there was nowhere else to go) I took out the canoe solo. My proverbial black cloud hovered over my head, and the winds blew and the water became rough, and I had to paddle like the devil to keep out of the overhanging shrubs to get back to the windsock marked pier.
When Jim operated the lodge in its heyday folks would fly in from Anchorage for the Saturday night dances. Jim was something of a country music singer and had appeared on Channeel 2, KTVU, in San Francisco. Although he never achieved fame as a performer, he nevertheless knew lot of people in the country music business, and he would invite them to play at his Point of View Lodge. The sounds of music and merriment would echo across the lake. Float planes and watercraft would be tied up at the dock. During this time there were a goodly number of soldiers at the nearby army recreation area, too who attended the Saturday night dances. The Point of View Lodge became the place to be on summer Saturday nights in the Matanuska area. Jim stayed in Alaska until his death, and in true frontier fashion had his ashes spread across Lake Louise by a bush pilot friend flying low over the placid lake on which Jim had built his dream.
People still fly into the lodge today for a weekend and in winter, before the lake freezes, that is the only way it is accessible. While lounging in the lobby I heard the sound of a high performance automobile. Once you hear the sound of a high performance V-8 engine you remember the sound, even though that's probably just a "guy thing'. But what could it be? We were miles from where a car could be going fast enough to make that sound. I sprang to the window to look out on the lake. It was an airboat with a Chevrolet engine. A man and a dog came ashore from the airboat docked at the pier. The man was a big bearded outdoors type, and the dog was what you would expect in these parts, a sled dog. He had come to help the innkeeper with some chores. And Jack, the dog, he just goes where Frank, the man, goes. I had a chance to talk to Frank later about his watercraft, explaining that I had seen many airboats in Florida and other marshy areas of the eastern coast of the continental United States. He explained that the air boat was really great in winter when the lake was frozen solid, and the boat was like sled gliding across the ice.
Victoria, the innkeeper, prepared a fantastic dinner of roast pork, sweet potatoes, asparagus, and cheese ravioli. There was a crisp salad and hearty harvest bread, too. The beverage of choice was Alaska Timber Draft. We shared the cream cake with coffee. As the only guests we had the choice of view of the lake from the dining room.
Later that evening our hosts had invited a local fellow, Tom Main, to come over. He had known Jim. The years had been pretty good to Tom. He was of slight build, about five feet ten inches tall , with a considerable amount of grey hair receding from his forehead, and with skin textured by age. Beneath the bespectacled brown eyes was an infectious smile. Although he hadn't know Jim very well, he did have some stories to tell.
"I homesteaded my place, you know", he said, as he began a story of how he came to be in Alaska. Tom told how he had been educated in a Japanese internment camp during WWII before eventually going into government service and subsequently ending up in Alaska. He had been a homesteader on his property on Lake Louise. Tom's first house had been a tent and though the years he had added solid walls and eventually a roof and continued to expand it to its present size. His home had solar panels for heating water, and electricity generated with a combination of diesel generator, wind power, and solar panels. I would have liked to have seen his homestead, but we did not have the time. He told us that in rural Alaska emergency medical care was provided by specially trained volunteers. A person would normally be flown to a hospital, if necessary. Small single-engine aircraft are a common mode of transport in Alaska. It was great talking with Tom. We learned a great deall about life in rural Alaska, past and present. We said our goodnights turned in for the night.
I think perhaps Alaskans are different. A few days earlier I had met a nine-year-old boy at breakfast at a bed and breakfast in Anchorage. I found him fascinating. His mother was native American, but his father was Caucasian from Minnesota, and they lived in the north near Barrow. I queried Clarence about life in Alaska for a boy and was surprised that he had no interest in television or video games. Clarence's biggest concern was whether the person he left in charge of his trapline was maintaining it properly. He could not wait to get back to check his traps. At nine-years-old he traps fox and other fur bearing animals, skins them out, and sells their pelts. He speaks of this as if it is normal activity for a boy his age and probably doesn't understand why anyone would think otherwise.
We saw a beautiful sunrise the next morning, said our goodbyes to our hosts, and were on the road again in our rented PT Cruiser after a good breakfast. It had been a good visit to The Point Lodge, once known as Point of View Lodge. I think Jim would have been proud.
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Alaska, the last frontier.
