The Dalton Highway: A Last Frontier Adventure

“Please call” read the subject line of the 4:33 a.m. email. “Bad news. The car”

What!! My husband Dave and I planned to pick up our reserved Ford Escape SUV from a Fairbanks, Alaska car rental agency that Thursday, just two hours after I checked my email at 6:30 a.m.  The contract for our Toyota Corolla prohibited us from taking it on the Dalton Highway, so we rented the Escape to drive the Dalton past the Arctic Circle.

“Carrie (name misspelled!) Bad news. The car we planned to rent to you this morning is broken. We may be able to get you on a tour instead. Please call us ASAP to discuss your options.”

I read the cryptic message to my husband.

“Are you kidding?” he asked.

I felt a pit in my stomach. Our planned two-day drive along the Dalton Highway, a gravel/dirt and sometimes paved two-lane, lonely road that stretches from north of Fairbanks to Deadhorse, near Prudhoe Bay and the Arctic Ocean, was one of our anticipated highlights of our two-week  Alaskan trip in late August.

An agency representative immediately answered my frantic call. “I’m so glad that you called,” he gushed.  “I am just so sorry but the car you rented is broken― actually three of our seven vehicles are broken because renters have been driving way too fast on the Dalton― 50 MPH instead of 30 to 40. It’s too late for you to hitch a ride on our shuttle bus, but one of our competitors may have an available vehicle. Or you could join our Arctic Circle tour.” As he prattled on, giving me the number of the competitor that didn’t open until 8, I knew we couldn’t change the dates of our drive because the rest of itinerary was carved in stone: Dave’s anticipated trip highlight: a photography workshop in Denali National Park.

We both looked forward to driving on the Dalton― something we’d never experienced― and wanted to explore on our own and hike before driving north of the Arctic Circle to stay in a cabin in Wiseman, population of 14 according to the 2010 census.

We’d read online that cars often broken down on the Dalton. Oil tankers and other trucks were the main vehicles on the 414-mile road that begins about 84 miles north of Fairbanks and ends at Deadhorse, near Prudhoe Bay and the Arctic Ocean.

At 8:01, I called the other rental company. A Chevy Suburban was available at 10 a.m. IF the renter returned it on time. “How about a truck?” I asked and waited as the clerk took minutes, which seemed like hours, to check.

“Yes, we have one truck here that will be ready at 10. I gulped at the price but it was cheaper than the Suburban, and of course lots more than the broken Escape! But this was our one chance to drive the Dalton.

At 10:30, two hours later than we’d anticipated starting our adventure, I boosted my 5’11 frame into the passenger seat of our king cab, heavy duty Dodge Ram 2500, with a hemi engine, and heavy-duty puncture resistant tires, two spare tires, and a CB radio for emergencies because cell service wasn’t available along the highway. The rental agent advised filling the truck with gas in Coldfoot at Milepost 175 but we could also find gas at the Yukon River Crossing at Milepost 56. Dave, who had driven tractor trailers in his younger years, seemed immediately at ease as we drove to the start of the Dalton Highway.

A small sign and some pavement, which quickly turned to dirt, marked the beginning of the Dalton. The rental agent had advised us to put the truck into four-wheel drive but there was no need. The dirt road reminded us of many well-maintained dirt roads in Colorado. Was this big truck overkill?

Dave obeyed the rules of the highway: lights on, yield to big trucks, and pull over to let faster vehicles pass. The road, which follows the Alaskan Pipeline, started off in a forest before it broke out into a magnificent yellow and red colored tundra. Occasionally, a short, dirt side road led to the pipeline, apparently for repairs and checks. For the next several hours, we saw only the road and pipeline for miles ahead, and wilderness as far as one could see. We passed burn areas from previous wildfires as the clouds thickened and lowered over the gently rolling terrain.

We turned off at the Yukon River Crossing settlement that consisted of a couple of outhouses, a 10-by-15-foot log cabin visitor center, and two side-by-side picnic tables. We didn’t see any gas pumps. At the picnic tables, we ate our lunch, which we’d brought as well as other meal fixings because our Wiseman cabin hostess had cautioned us that there weren’t any food markets (actually only wide-open space with two exceptions) along our route. A fellow picnicker, guiding four Floridians to the Arctic Circle, warned us about potholes in the upcoming section of the road and asked about our vehicle. We pointed to our truck.

He looked admiringly at it. “You’ll have no trouble,” he said and walked to his van.

We met a Montana couple who smiled broadly as they announced that they were on their way back to Fairbanks. They’d just driven their camper from Deadhorse at speeds between 5 and 10 MPH north of Wiseman because of horrendous road conditions.

After lunch and a quick walk to the banks of the Yukon River, we walked into the visitor center.

A grey-haired woman warily looked at us but warmed up as soon as we told her that we were staying overnight in Wiseman. She knew our hostess and just about everyone that lived there or so it seemed. She warned us about the potholes that lay ahead and gave us each a certificate that proclaimed we’d reached the Arctic Circle, where she usually worked. She showed us a photo of a grizzly that she’d recently seen along the highway.

We thanked her and I took over driving. The truck felt huge! I tensed a bit when I spotted an oil tanker in the rear-view mirror. It barreled down on us. I pulled off the road.

Miles later, we fell in behind a lonely SUV Escape which pulled over as another tanker sped closer. I couldn’t a safe place to move off the road. “Just stop and trucker will understand,” Dave said. He did. That was easy!

Confidence filled me as I drove on. I timed my stops better as the tankers and an occasional supply truck dropped back as they climbed small hills and sometimes even stopped at the top, presumably to check tires and clean off their vehicle’s lights. For the next two hours, we only saw a couple of state trucks traveling the opposite direction.

We reached a paved portion of the Dalton― and potholes! Not small potholes but huge ones that stretched halfway across the road. I steered the truck as if on a slalom course to avoid the holes, and could do so because there weren’t any other vehicles in sight. Some of the potholes were deep which I discovered when I occasionally misjudged these obstacles. The truck took the bumps with ease. Our Corolla would have been destroyed! I bonded with the truck and named him Big Bad Truck (BBT).

Permafrost had created the potholes which seemed to grow larger as we neared the Arctic Circle. A small sign announced the destination turnoff which led to a parking lot, picnic tables, outhouses, a large sign, and an informational exhibit. We had the area to ourselves.

Before we left, a Texas couple in the Escape that we had passed miles before, pulled in. Husband and wife told us that they’d wished they’d rented a truck, probably because of the enormous potholes, and tankers.

I felt better about renting BBT!

The potholes continued as we drove on, and the deck lowered, with the mist turning into rain. No hikes for us today! We arrived at Coldfoot late in the afternoon and visited the informative and modern looking Arctic Interagency Visitor Center. We saw stuffed critters indigenous to the area but never saw live ones along our route. Then we treated BBT to a few gallons of gas― at $5.50 a gallon― before deciding to eat supper at the truck stop. We opted for the only choice― a buffet (ala carte wasn’t offered until 10 p.m.!) with yummy root vegetables and other fixings.

Afterwards, I gazed at the Coldfoot accommodations― which looked like barracks― and was grateful that I’d rented a cabin, complete with a kitchen, less than twenty miles up the Dalton in Wiseman. Thankfully, the next stretch of highway was paved and had suffered less permafrost damage, so we arrived at our cabin in good time and in the pouring rain!

The next morning, our hostess encouraged us to continue up the Dalton until the pavement ended― another twenty-two miles― for spectacular views. We drove north about eighteen miles until it was obvious the cloud deck was dropping. What a peaceful feeling having the road to ourselves! Reluctantly we turned around but enjoyed wonderful views, and stopped here and there as we drove back in slightly improved weather conditions. We admired the stunning colors of the tundra and took in the loneliness of the area, truly a piece of the last frontier.

Weeks later, I learned that the Dalton is considered by some as the world’s third most dangerous highway! I’m so glad that I didn’t know that beforehand, and that we ended up driving the BBT instead of the “tiny” SUV Escape  about 210 miles on this almost deserted road. We feel so fortunate to have taken our adventure and experienced the sense of true vastness and sheer beauty of northern Alaska.