Laird River Hot Springs...ahhhhh!!!

First off in case I get distracted and whisk you off to tales about other places, it is pronounced “lay-urd,” as it was not named, as first glance suggests, as a political payoff to a fellow, mediocre, office holder —becoming a boring place name for an airport, or bridge, or unfortunately, Alaska’s tallest mountain— which as everyone knows would put the accent on the “liar-d” part. That would just not do here, as the main pool at Laird is, in my humble opinion — the best hot spring in the whole wide world!  

No. I am not fibbing. I am a wilderness hot spring person who has backpacked, ridden horseback, cross country skied, for miles and days, into nearly all of the Western States, to try some natural wonders so secret they aren’t written down on any list.  One of these experiences includes a cavern in Yellowstone National Park that I was told the park rangers didn’t have a clue, existed. 

When soaking elsewhere’s with other aficionados, who prefer the spice of an Italian al fresco style (and please do not read that as being something sexual), and I bring up Laird as the standard all other hot springs are measured by, the only dissent from those who have been there is, “Too many people.”

“Yes,” I answer, there can be a lot of people soaking with their backs up against the  “waterfall,” but that is what makes Laird special is that everyone in the pool is a veteran of a very special experience.  They have, after all, as the bumper stickers that start appearing at Toad River, proclaim, “Drove the Alcan, and Survived!”  Sorry, guys, that all my video shows is asphalt.  But I also documented wild animals. Remember the bears?

Yes, that is the common conversation starter, here. With a valid reason. The campground occasionally experiences black bears wondering through at night looking for food (or dirty dishes, or garbage) left out by some stupid cheechako (new-comer).  If that happens you will usually know by firecrackers being set off by rangers, or more experienced travelers of the North.

In your bear stories while soaking you can mention that a friend of yours —me— claims that in the wild, accidentally interacting with blacks is almost fun.  We have blacks peaking in our cabin windows all the time.  If they get a little too curious about the creature looking back —separated by perhaps one foot, and the thickness of ordinary double glazed glass— we give them a blast with a boater’s foghorn.  We even have had them enter through an open door on a hot day that are routed by calmly (well in perhaps a little louder than usual voice) stating some sort of insane gibberish as, “Sorry, we already gave at the office.” A phrase I somehow got used to make noise with shouting when hiking through brush, “Lady with a baby,” failed me once.  My reaction was to kick a “hairy butted Alaskan,” right in the nose. He ran off squealing.  My biggest scare was stepping out on my porch for firewood one morning, nude, and running smack dab into a four-year old.  Wellsir, I threw a good-sized chunk of wood at him. And missed. Dang if he didn’t chase after it, just like a dog playing fetch. 

I do not, as mentioned before, include the “TV expert” that got both himself, and his girlfriend, killed by grizzlies in the fly-in wilderness of the Alaska Peninsula, in any happy, folkloric bear stories. Treadwell loved “his” bears so much he got nine of them killed before they found the one so ticked off being taunted by Grizzly mating sounds, that he over reacted a bit.  I will remind you that they were sleeping in a tent, which is exactly why — as validated by regulations at Denali National Park— driving a hard-sided RVs North is worth a bit of extra gas.

And this brings us to the story of the closure a few years ago of the upper pool at Laird Hot Springs (in the video with the couple walking), a quarter mile past the boardwalk and changing rooms of the main dial-your-own-temperature pool by moving right towards “the rocks of hell,” or downstream to where a cold water shower sends tingles all over your body. It seems that a black, here, mauled a young boy a few years ago.  I have tried to get the official facts of the matter, and have only been told yet another story.  Perhaps the tale was even invented, as an incident in Hyder, Alaska, accidentally proved a few years ago.  When a scary bear story hits the headlines in Germany — the number of enthusiastic tourists distinguished by a “Yah, Yah?” accent increases dramatically. 

So there, having bathed at Laird, you have something to share when you get home.  People spend big dollars in Hawaii to swim with the dolphins. Here you might get to soak with a bear, for free! Just kidding. Except for the part about not panicking, or leaving food out —go ahead and enjoy. 

If you really want to relax in the North, carry a can of pepper spray packaged with a bear graphic on the canister, so it will be legal to carry (not fly) across a border. We do, another advantage motorhome travelers enjoy, as I can also tell you a story of a meek-and-mild senior citizen who put two teen-age society bashers into a hospital by using his protective spray, and he even didn’t get charged with assault and battery on the poor misguided children.