Buying A House and other Adventures with Wes

Home on Wendys Way, Ahchorage, AK 1970

I returned to Indiana in the fall of 1968 to work on a graduate degree in education, and headed back over the ALCAN the following August. In December, Bob Evans, our new roommate, found a beautiful, four bedroom home to rent on Wendys Way. The place belonged to some old friends of his, Don and Gladys Beattie. It was on the west end of town off Northernlights Blvd., and near the International Airport. We moved on December 19, 1969. Bob, Wes and I pooled our money and jointly bought it in the fall of 1971.

Wes Warner on back porch of Wendys Way, 1970

In the spring of 1970, Wes joined me, Dan Wilson, Jim Sumner, three teachers at West High, on an early spring fishing trip. Someone had the idea that we could get some grayling out of Crescent lake on the Kenai Peninsula. The lake sat in the mountains nestled in a crook of the bigger S-shaped Kenai Lake that lay below. The six mile hike into the lake was mainly uphill. Our trek started on a warm May day with hints of spring in the air, but as the trail gradually climbed into higher country we ran into snow that became deeper with elevation. No one had anticipated the depths we found, waist deep in places.

Wes and his first big Salmon

The five trudged laboriously onward. Several avalanches thundered ominously, unseen and distant. We came to the lake a few hours later, wet and tired. To add insult to injury, it was still frozen. The ice had yet to go out. No fishing that day. We held up in a Forest Service cabin for a hour or so - built a fire and someone made a watery, tasteless soup. Then we trudged back over the trail. The misadventure led Wes to refer and count all future outing that Dan Wilson and I were involved with as “Fiasco Number One”, “Fiasco Number Two” , etc.

A friend, Bob Evans, and Wes Warner, Winter, 1970

Wes Warner, Turnagain Pass, 1970

We had a number of adventures over the years. The three of us bought snow machines shortly after moving. Wes and I went out nearly every weekend over the next three or four winters. Bob often accompanied us, but it was rare for Wes and I to miss. Sometimes several others would go along.

Wes Turnagain Pass, Alaska, 1970

Wes Warner & Larry Robidue, Lake Louise, 1971

Hatcher Pass was our favorite area. We accessed it from either the Palmer or the Willow end. Once we went to the top of Mount Baldy from the Willow side and explored the wreckage of a Military transport that had crashed in the 1950’s. Old abandoned mines were accessible from the Palmer side. We visited several perched on the sides of mountains. One mine was located four or five miles up a valley on the Palmer side. The mine had not been in operation for several years, but a cabin with basic furnishings still stood in fairly good condition. We went in to it several times one winter. I remember a steel cable crossed the path as we came into the mine area. We could not reach up and touch it on our first trip in. We road over it on the last.

Wes Warner & Bob Evans, Mt. Baldy, Hacher Pass, 1971

We made excursions to Lake Louise, and Juneau Lake on the Resurrection Trail, among others, but Turnagain Pass was our other favorite place to snow machine. Wes and I went there on our first trip out of town. I recently purchased a pair of Air force mukluks, blue canvas boots that reached half up my calves. They had thin rubber soles with thick wool liners, and were so light it was like wearing house slippers. I remember wiggling my toes in them on our way to the pass that morning wondering how they could possibly keep my feet warm in such cold weather. We spent most of the day on our machines exploring, stopping once to take each others pictures in front of backdrop of snow covered spruce trees. We had so much fun we both, like kids with new toys, could hardly wait for the next weekend to come. I never worried about the mukluks after that first trip.

Staging Area at Hatcher Pass, Willow side, 1971

A half-dozen of us went to Turnagain Pass on another occasion. We worked our way up to a bench at the mountain base and were spread out, maneuvering through widely spaced trees. I would, now and then, catch a glimpse of one of the other riders off to my side. We were in deep snow. The boughs of the trees were heavily laden with snow, but there was none at their bases. I went too close to one and slid into the hole, an inverted cone of empty space, around its base. It took me nearly an hour to work my way out. I shut off the engine at one point and heard nothing but absolute silence, and knew I had to get out of it on my own. Wes and I purchased snowshoes after that and carried them strapped to our machine. The snow was too deep to walk through, and you could go further on a machine in twenty minutes that you could walk all day - even in snowshoes.

Wes riding on Oil Well Road near Ninilchik, AK, 1971

We bought Honda motorcycles at the start of the 1970 summer. All three cycles were small, not the macho Harley Hog type, but better for running on the back county trails. Bob’s was the smallest, a Honda 90. We teased him saying it looked more like a girlie bike. It was a low geared vehicle with a large platform on top of the rear wheel - a good work horse for carrying things. Mine was orange, with a 100cc engine. Wes had the largest with an emerald green 125cc machine.

Wes on beach near Ninilchik, AK, 1971

Our two cycles were the classic dirt-bike variety with a gap between fenders and tires, but they had little power. We tried hill climbing a couple times. Other bikers, with bigger machines, could easily beat the hills, but ours repeatedly petered out before reaching the top.

Joe Buckingham on his Honda 100, Ninilchik, AK, 1971

One weekend the two of us went south on the Kenai to the Ninilchik area. We road miles along the beaches, feeling free and exuberant, as we leaned into curves, and carved “figure-eights“ in the wet sand. Later that weekend we explored the fifteen miles to the end of Oil Well Road (off of which I’d staked my Open-to-Entry land claim) where it ended at a circular pad. A large diameter, “well-head” pipe rose vertically from the center. It was a bit eerie - we had finally come to the end of the road - fifteen miles through wilderness, no fences, no houses, no poles, no nothing…and then it suddenly ended.
GO TO: Wes on the Kenai