Cripple Creek is composed of numerous retirees that love to prospect gold, fish, and tell stories. Most of them get paid to be participants of “The Alaskan Expedition” at some point in their lives, but as they honed their gold finding skills, they fell in love with Nome. The fresh air, simple life styles, camaraderie, and common interests among the others, had them coming back every year as volunteers. Some of the guys have been coming to Cripple Creek for about 20 years and staying the whole 2 1/2 months of the camp season. Pretty impressive.
One of the reasons the camp runs so smoothly is the fact that all the volunteers have a specific skill set that is utilized by the whole - there are carpenters, mechanics, kitchen staff, utility crew, and truck drivers. Each section has a “crew leader”, but most of the guys automatically know what needs to be completed to open the camp and run it with out too much delegation - they just know that this cabin needs to be re-floored or that truck needs a new engine or there will be 200 people to feed so they need so and so supplies, etc. It’s a well-oiled machine.
Two days ago I had the pleasure of spending the morning riding in the Foremost, a giant orange truck roughly resembling a Tonka Truck, that drives about 5 miles an hour hauling trucking containers from the town of Nome, along the beach to Cripple Creek. I woke at 5:45am to roll out on the first run of the day. Ralph, the driver, was trying to fit in two trips for the day, a hard feat considering it takes about 1 hour and 45 mins to drive the empty trailer 12 miles to town, an hour to load up the truck, and about 2 ½-3 hours to drive back to camp depending on the conditions of the sand. If the sand is too soft, the truck tires will dig in, getting stuck. Ralph always carries a shovel and a radio for emergencies.
A Tunka Truck...right?
Luckily our trip was routine. After leaving camp, Ralph drove the 2 miles to the Penny River while I shoot footage of him transversing over the bumpy gravel road that the tractor recently carved along the beach. 2 weeks prior to our arrival at camp, the beach was covered in a thick layer of snow and ice, leftovers of a hard winter. Just getting out to camp to open a few of the buildings for the “opening crew” took about 5 hours and a roundabout way to get across the frozen tundra. Now there are just rivets of snow ditches here and there and lazy tractor trails.
Foremost crossing the Penny River.
Once we crossed the Penny, a river that is temperamental at best, occasionally rising to the windows of one of the mega trucks, or to just below the chassis of a 4-wheeler, Ralph pulled over and goes, “You’re turn,” as he crawls across the middle seat towards me. “Um, sure,” I maneuver around him and find myself in the drivers seat looking out at a never end stretch of sand. I look down, checking for the gears, gas pedal and brake. One small problem, there’s only a single pedal. “Where’s the brake?” “There ain’t no brake,” Ralph smiles.
Even though this Tunka Truck looks cute and drives at a snails pace, I’ve seen it turn practically on it’s side rolling up and over a 2-foot mound. “Seriously,” I look despondently at Ralph. “Just put it in 2nd gear, you’ll be fine.” A 1-foot mound sits 20 feet ahead. I switch the gear, push on the pedal, and we’re coasting down the beach. Within a minute, I’m happily bumping along the sand, having smashed the mound beneath the thunderous carriage. “See, just run everything over, we’re bigger then most of the stuff out there,” Ralph praises, “and the brake’s that metal bar on the steering wheel.” He doesn’t even miss a beat.
I was so good at driving, (yes, I know, surprising) that Ralph fell asleep in the passengers seat. He’ll probably claim that he was just “resting his eyes” or “no, I was awake”, but either way, I was queen of the beach for 2 hours and the only things I managed to hit were a few pieces of driftwood. It was great.
We made it to town and I jumped out of the cab to resume my true purpose of this little joy ride down the coast, to document the Foremost’s journey. A trucking container filled with goods was fork-lifted onto the back hitch, the Foremost gulped down 116 gallons of gas, and then it headed back to the beach. Luckily I got to switch to a giant truck, which was in town to pick up some folks from the airport, so I didn’t have to spend the next few hours driving even slower back to Camp in the Foremost. I like hanging out with Ralph, but I think I would have killed him or myself if I had to drive 2 miles an hour on a bumpy road. I just don’t have patience of steel.
One of the reasons the camp runs so smoothly is the fact that all the volunteers have a specific skill set that is utilized by the whole - there are carpenters, mechanics, kitchen staff, utility crew, and truck drivers. Each section has a “crew leader”, but most of the guys automatically know what needs to be completed to open the camp and run it with out too much delegation - they just know that this cabin needs to be re-floored or that truck needs a new engine or there will be 200 people to feed so they need so and so supplies, etc. It’s a well-oiled machine.
Two days ago I had the pleasure of spending the morning riding in the Foremost, a giant orange truck roughly resembling a Tonka Truck, that drives about 5 miles an hour hauling trucking containers from the town of Nome, along the beach to Cripple Creek. I woke at 5:45am to roll out on the first run of the day. Ralph, the driver, was trying to fit in two trips for the day, a hard feat considering it takes about 1 hour and 45 mins to drive the empty trailer 12 miles to town, an hour to load up the truck, and about 2 ½-3 hours to drive back to camp depending on the conditions of the sand. If the sand is too soft, the truck tires will dig in, getting stuck. Ralph always carries a shovel and a radio for emergencies.
A Tunka Truck...right?
Luckily our trip was routine. After leaving camp, Ralph drove the 2 miles to the Penny River while I shoot footage of him transversing over the bumpy gravel road that the tractor recently carved along the beach. 2 weeks prior to our arrival at camp, the beach was covered in a thick layer of snow and ice, leftovers of a hard winter. Just getting out to camp to open a few of the buildings for the “opening crew” took about 5 hours and a roundabout way to get across the frozen tundra. Now there are just rivets of snow ditches here and there and lazy tractor trails.
Foremost crossing the Penny River.
Once we crossed the Penny, a river that is temperamental at best, occasionally rising to the windows of one of the mega trucks, or to just below the chassis of a 4-wheeler, Ralph pulled over and goes, “You’re turn,” as he crawls across the middle seat towards me. “Um, sure,” I maneuver around him and find myself in the drivers seat looking out at a never end stretch of sand. I look down, checking for the gears, gas pedal and brake. One small problem, there’s only a single pedal. “Where’s the brake?” “There ain’t no brake,” Ralph smiles.
Even though this Tunka Truck looks cute and drives at a snails pace, I’ve seen it turn practically on it’s side rolling up and over a 2-foot mound. “Seriously,” I look despondently at Ralph. “Just put it in 2nd gear, you’ll be fine.” A 1-foot mound sits 20 feet ahead. I switch the gear, push on the pedal, and we’re coasting down the beach. Within a minute, I’m happily bumping along the sand, having smashed the mound beneath the thunderous carriage. “See, just run everything over, we’re bigger then most of the stuff out there,” Ralph praises, “and the brake’s that metal bar on the steering wheel.” He doesn’t even miss a beat.
I was so good at driving, (yes, I know, surprising) that Ralph fell asleep in the passengers seat. He’ll probably claim that he was just “resting his eyes” or “no, I was awake”, but either way, I was queen of the beach for 2 hours and the only things I managed to hit were a few pieces of driftwood. It was great.
We made it to town and I jumped out of the cab to resume my true purpose of this little joy ride down the coast, to document the Foremost’s journey. A trucking container filled with goods was fork-lifted onto the back hitch, the Foremost gulped down 116 gallons of gas, and then it headed back to the beach. Luckily I got to switch to a giant truck, which was in town to pick up some folks from the airport, so I didn’t have to spend the next few hours driving even slower back to Camp in the Foremost. I like hanging out with Ralph, but I think I would have killed him or myself if I had to drive 2 miles an hour on a bumpy road. I just don’t have patience of steel.
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