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| SKIING WITH SPICE |
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Curry adds flavor to the Alaska railroad's annual ski train
Author: Alaskalink.US., editor Vlad |
An early-morning train glided toward daybreak heading into a wintry silence that would be soon be punctuated by the sounds of skiers, snowshoers and other cold-weather enthusiasts. Passengers stretched, yawned and looked out the windows. The tracks wound languidly beside the partially frozen Susitna River. Mount McKinley loomed against the blue sky. A few shutterbugs snapped photos from the cold vestibule between cars.
It's a scene belonging to two eras, with nearly 50 years of stillness sandwiched in between.
Beginning in the 1920s, the government railroad carried passengers to the picturesque town of Curry, the halfway point on the 500-mile length of track between Seward and Fairbanks. Travelers disembarked at a world-class, luxury hotel complete with a swimming pool, golf course and tennis courts in summer, and a ski lift in winter.
These days-during an annual trek sponsored by the Nordic Skiing Association of Anchorage-more than 700 snowboarders, skiers and snowshoers board the train in Anchorage and pile out at the same place where the bustling resort once stood. If anyone could wake the ghosts of Curry's past, it would be the enthusiastic passengers on the present-day ski train. Beginning in 2003, the ski train began traveling to the old Curry town site, 20 miles north of Talkeetna. It was the first time in nearly 50 years that the area had seen skiers.
The only evidence of the lively town, however, was a small, white sign reading "Curry" next to the tracks. Not even a ghost town remained-only a small ski lodge on the hillside and memories of a time when the town pulsed to the rhythm of the rails.
Curry's story began in 1917 with the birth of the railroad and a construction camp originally called Deadhorse Hill, named for a team of horses that lunged off a nearby cliff after being spooked by a bear. At Mile 248 (248 miles north of the start of the railroad in Seward), the camp grew into a community that became a staging area for construction of the northern half of the railroad between Talkeetna and Fairbanks. Sternwheelers and steamers plied the Susitna River delivering workers and supplies to Deadhorse Hill.
Nellie Neal Lawing, also known as "Alaska Nellie," was given a contract to run the roadhouse in Deadhorse. As the former proprietor of the roadhouse in Grandview, Nellie had already earned a reputation as a big-game hunter, trapper and dog musher. In Deadhorse, she provided meals and a place for railroad employees to stay. Her dining room seated 120 people and she often hunted for the food she served.
But by 1922, times were beginning to change. Construction of the railroad was nearly complete. When the Alaska Engineering Commission decided to build a large railroad hotel with all the modern amenities-electricity, heat, plumbing and telephones-Alaska Nellie's roadhouse closed. Deadhorse Hill hardly seemed a fitting name for a tourist destination, so the community was renamed after Congressman Charles Forrest Curry Sr., an early supporter of the government-run railroad.
Finished in 1923, the luxurious Curry Hotel became an overnight stop for passengers traveling between Seward and Fairbanks. Here in the heart of the Alaska wilderness were accommodations that rivaled even the best in Seattle or San Francisco. Uniformed bellboys lugged baggage to guests' rooms. The latest jazz and blues music played from the gramophone as logs crackled in the lobby's fireplace. Outside, a 537-foot suspension bridge spanned the Susitna River. After crossing the river, visitors could hike the trail up Curry Ridge to Regalvista, a shelter house with a view of Mount McKinley.
The town and the hotel grew. A bakery, a creamery, a school and a commercial laundry served the burgeoning community. The resort expanded to include a swimming pool, golf course, tennis courts and a ski lift with a lodge. By the 1930s, the Curry Hotel had grown to 75 guest rooms and the town bustled with 90 permanent residents and hundreds of visitors and railroad workers.
The advent of diesel engines brought a decline in business-the faster, more powerful engines meant there was no longer a need for an overnight stop in Curry. Besides, a hotel at Mount McKinley National Park began to draw tourists closer to the mountain. In 1957, Curry's glory days came to an end when a fire broke out and the grand hotel was reduced to a smoking pile of rubble. The cause of the fire remains a mystery.
The railroad decided not to rebuild the hotel, and the little town of Curry slowly disappeared. Buildings and equipment not sold and carted away were eventually bulldozed into the river. All that remained was a mess hall for railroad workers, the old ski lodge, a shelter atop Curry Ridge-and half a century of silence.
In 2002, Donald Smith had a problem. The railroad's ski train, after 32 seasons of taking skiers into the wilderness between Anchorage and Seward seemed doomed. A reduction in winter track maintenance meant that a trip to Grandview was not an option. It seemed a shame to Smith, director of labor relations for the Alaska Railroad and an avid skier, to let the ski train fade into history.
Smith knew that the railroad still owned the land around the old Curry town site. Rolling hills, birch forests and a winding river offered an idyllic setting for a scenic winter outing. And like Grandview, Curry was accessible only by train.
Smith, who had helped organize a previous ski train to Grandview, wondered: Why not send skiers to Curry? Smith and Mark Torgerson, a ski train veteran and member of the Nordic Ski Association of Anchorage, along with a host of other volunteers resuscitated the ski train by turning it north.
But it was not as simple as changing directions. Curry was nearly overgrown with alders and brush. The town site needed to be cleared and a trail developed for skiers interested in more challenging terrain. Safety plans had to be made and tickets had to be sold. And, of course, extra beer had to be ordered for the longer ride to and from Curry.
Almost everyone who has ever taken the ski train agrees that getting there and back is half the fun. The train left the Anchorage depot in the dark of morning and met the rising sun as it headed for a pristine day of backcountry snow. Some folks slept. Other travelers supped on champagne, smoked salmon and other goodies they'd loaded into their coolers. Kids played cards, couples snuggled and dozed, a few passengers read, and others took photos of pink alpenglow on the Chugach and Talkeetna mountains. Smith and Torgerson grinned, greeted old friends and made a few new ones as they walked the aisles and asked how everyone was enjoying the ride.
As the train neared Curry, a polka band in lederhosen and dirndls roused sleepy travelers with "Roll Out the Barrel" and other oompah tunes. The Nordic Ski Patrol briefed passengers about the trails and potential hazards of the area. The Alaska Mountain Rescue Group, Alaska Search and Rescue Dogs, and Alaska Snowmobile Search Rescue and Recovery Group were also on board in case skiers got into trouble.
Most importantly, the safety teams emphasized to skiers, don't miss the train back: The train was to leave at 4 p.m. sharp, and it would be a long cold walk back to Anchorage. (For anyone left behind, however, a barrel with survival gear was stashed near the tracks.)
When the train finally rolled to a stop, it didn't take long for passengers to pour out, collect skis, snowshoes, snowboards and sleds from the baggage car, and disperse. Some skiers and snowshoers made their way along the river toward the birch forest. Other adventurers headed for the hills, eager for both the climb and the rush of a quick descent. The tiniest of travelers were happily bundled in baby packs and kiddy-sleds.
"There's so much history in this place," said Smith, tossing chunks of wood in a burn barrel next to the black-and-white Curry sign. "Who would have imagined there'd be skiers out here again?"
After a day in the backcountry, the ride home turned into a rollicking affair. Brats smothered in sauerkraut disappeared as quickly as they could be served. Beer flowed from the tap. An impatient group of revelers waltzed up and down the aisles singing, "Bring on the polka! We'll want a barrel of fun!" The band set up shop in the tropical Tiki Car, and the dance car was soon packed.
Rosy-cheeked and ravenous, passengers in other cars broke out megalunches and compared notes about where they had skied and what they had seen. Some skiers had stopped to peek into the windows of the old lodge. Others had found remnants of the pulley system that once served the ski tow lift. A few veterans of the ski train compared Curry to Grandview. Telemarkers looking for more vertical terrain wondered whether the train would someday return to its old location. Everyone agreed this place was different, but few complained.
"There's no other train in the nation that goes out into the wilderness for a day and just drops people off," Smith said. "It's Alaskan. it's why we live here."
"People had a lot of fun and next year will be even better," Torgerson agreed. The plan is to clear more trails, have a bonfire, and maybe sell s'mores. "We'll just keep adding to the experience."
KAYLENE JOHNSON is a free-lance writer from Eagle River and the author of PORTRAIT OF THE ALASKA RAILROAD, published by Alaska Northwest Books.
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