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If there's ever a cardinal rule in family vacation planning, it's this: Never go anywhere during "off-season." Rest assured, it's "off" for a reason.
Our family, however, threw common sense aside a few years ago and took an October jaunt to Alaska, where I was to speak at a statewide women's retreat. Lillian, four, and Matthew, six, wanted to see a real live moose, and my husband, Bill, was thrilled with the off-season rates.
"October is after moose season but before the snow," the retreat planner told us. "But don't worry; there'll be lots of moose to see! Just pack your warmest clothes and head for the frontier!"
Duly warned, we took along our heaviest coats, scarves, gloves, and mittens, ready for a bone-chilling adventure in the frozen north.
The thermometer never dipped below 55 degrees.
And for a full week, it rained nonstop. We just love family vacations in the rain, don't you?
But inclement weather didn't deter us from our goal: to see a real live Alaskan moose. So off we headed from the Anchorage airport in our rental car, eyes glued to the woods along the roadside, slowing down at the "moosiest" looking spots, certain we'd see one any minute. Unfortunately, the closest we came to spotting a moose on Day One was during dinner at the Klondike Cafe. When Bill pointed out moose meat on the menu, Matthew just rolled his eyes and said, "Dad, we want to see a live moose, not a cooked one."
After a second mooseless vacation day, we began Day Three heading north toward Mt. McKinley. It was 60 degrees and still raining when we took a spur off the main highway and drove to "Beautiful Downtown Talkeetna." Since Talkeetna is famous for its July Moose Dropping Festival, we were sure we'd spot a moose—or at least some droppings!—somewhere near this little burg of six hundred. But the only thing we spotted in this teensy town were eleven folks—total. Then again, it was off-season.
Bill had reserved a room in a lodge that boasted a spectacular view of McKinley. (Alaskan tourists soon discover every hotel within a one-hundred-mile radius of Mt. McKinley makes a similar claim.) Our motel was located on the far edge of town, which meant it took a full forty-five seconds to drive there.
Although the guide book had boasted, "Modern Accommodations, Fine Dining," when we pulled into the gravel parking lot, my heart sank. The motel defied description, but let me try: Imagine a small abandoned church camp built in the forties with an interior design best summed up as "orange." And the cuisine? Well, let's just say the neon sign for "Coors Alaska" was a tip-off to the menu selections.
Our kids were still antsy to spot a moose, so after checking in, we piled back into our rental car and headed down the main drag in search of Real Alaska.
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