[John] When a trip starts with a rush, it doesn't end until you hit the pillow that night. Such began our trip to Alaska 2004. Drew was flying in from Arizona and with plenty of time to spare, I shrugged off the inclination to take the toll bypass and steered my car through town. I should have known better. Traffic, construction, and slow bus drivers allowed time to slide through my hands. Drew and I didn't hit the 1K check-in desk until 38 minutes before scheduled departure -- 2 minutes inside the required check-in time for baggage.

[Drew] John played his 1K card at the counter as the supervisor proceeded to check in and override the 40 minute policy. We watched as our tent and most of our camping equipment descended into the winding abyss of the luggage underworld... John's first time checking a bag in two years.

From this point on, the trip smoothed out. We made it through security just fine and boarded our plane to sit in our First Class seats...an honor that would be well appreciated after 6 hours of flying. Dinner was lamb chops with veggies and a salad, washed down by Cabernet Sauvignon and followed by hot fudge sundaes...vanilla AND chocolate. Yes, we were enjoying ourselves very much. Until we arrived in ANC...

[John] I don't dislike checking bags because they might get lost. I dislike checking bags because it means I have to wait. I hate waiting. It seems so unproductive. For this reason, I have not checked a bag in two years. Not one.

The destination and purpose of this trip didn't leave me much choice, however. Airlines get squeamish when one tries to take knives, matches and tent stakes onto the plane. So off we sent our borrowed NorthFace framepack into the hull of the plane.

When we got to Anchorage, we waited with the masses for our bags. After 15 minutes I was already a little concerned. Considering we had checked in near-last and had received first-class tags on the bag, we should have seen our bag on the luggage-o-picker almost first. But anything can happen, I told myself. So I did wait. Lots of people were getting their bags. The crowd began to thin. Soon it was just me, Drew and a old couple. The only bag on the belt was brown box with a rip. Not mine. Not theirs.

Wes The Agent was staffing the baggage service office and with the matter-a-factness of a US Post Office worker, processed my claim. I explained that our livelihood was in that bag and that I was hoping not to sleep in the airport. He just kinda shrugged and suggested we drive downtown to window shop. It was 9PM. "Wes, I would really prefer a hotel," pushing my boarding stub over the counter with "Premier Executive 100K" emblazoned across the top. He stared at me. I stared at him. "That would be most convenient." He stared at me. I stared at him. Then he picked up the phone and started dialing. 10 calls later, we finally found a hotel with vacancy.

[Drew] I basically sat by baggage claim watching what seemed a quite normal "lost baggage conversation": John standing at the counter, words being exchanged every couple minutes and minimal productivity. However, after about 45 minutes of this John came walking out and said "Let's head to our hotel...with free breakfast". Nice. Very nice.

Being the last hotel in the call list, I was a bit concerned as to the quality one might expect from such an establishment. However, we were pleasantly surprised to find a very spacious, clean, non-smoking room with 2 queen beds...what more can you ask for? We laid down and were just about asleep when our phone rant (11:30pm). It was United, informing us that our bag was NOT in on the 11pm flight, and that it should arrive around 9am the next morning. Glad we didn't go window shopping to wait for it.

One of the best perks to our hotel was a little guidebook on the desk in our room. It routed out trails, sights, maps, and everything else one might wish to view. While choosing our trail, we saw one through a Moose Preserve that the guide said was "not to be missed!" Well, that sounded like the trail for us. We were off to see Moose!

We probably hiked 5 or 6 miles, in the rain, and saw not one moose. There was one point where we saw a large log in the distance that LOOKED like a moose, and there were some moose droppings, but noooooo moose. *sigh* Then we ran into some hikers from Colorado who were similiarly disappointed...somehow it helps when you're not feeling so alone in your failed trek.