Four Wheeling over Indian Pass

As told by Kathy

My family didn’t invent the term “four-wheeling,” but we were doing it long before some one else coined the term. Of course, many of our adventures were made possible because our dad had the Jeep dealership and he generously loaned us cars off the sales lot to drive and, because my big brother, Russ, was always up for testing the off road capabilities of those four-wheel drive vehicles. As for Dad, he was pretty much always willing to give Russ – his “number one son” – any car he wanted. So. when Dad took an old open-top military style Willys Jeep in trade one summer day, Russ had the keys before the previous owner was off the lot.

This was the summer after Russ’ freshman year, and he had brought his college roommate, Kim Hutchinson, home with him. Kim no doubt was so intrigued with Russ’ story telling about Alaska that he just had to come see for himself the place where all those INCREDIBLE tales were born.

Kim was one of eight Hutchinson kids who grew up on a farm that was located smack in the middle of urban Portland, Oregon. It was a real working farm, with cows to milk, pigs to slop, sheep to shear, and fields of hay to cut and bundle. And Dr. Hutchinson, their dad, insisted that the kids do all the work. During the years I spend going to school in Oregon, I would come to know all the Hutchinsons. And they all had down-to-earth personalities more like country folk although they lived in a big city.

The first things you notice about Kim are his Bob Hope-type “ski jump” nose, his near-constant smile and his “take no prisoners” quick wit. Everyone was fair game for Kim’s sense of humor. Even my Dad, who had taken up the then-new pastime of jogging fell victim as Kim dubbed him “the Mad Jogger” or MJ or short. Kim was fun to be around; no one was too young or too old not to be invited to participate in any activity whether that be a conversation, a card game or even four wheeling. So, when Russ drove up in the Jeep ready for a manly adventure, he wan’t surprised to learn that Kim had invited his two little sisters, Genie and me to come along, and made no objection.

We piled into the Jeep and headed for the mountains that are the backdrop to Anchorage. We drove to the top of O’Malley road and they climbed higher up on Hillside Drive, but that was no problem for the sturdy little Jeep’s four-wheel drive. We turned onto a narrow road that took us to a parking area that was the trailhead to hikes in Paradise Valley. From there you could see what was more like a sort of trail that led as far as the eye could see through Indian Pass.  It was a mystery to us why the pass had that name; as far as we knew,  no Native American tribes had every inhabited that valley.

Being without seat belts, we all hung on tight to our seats as Russ drove through the parking area, down a small embankment and then shifted into gear to steer the Jeep through the deeply-rutted pathway to Indian Pass.  The mystery of the route’s name just added to our sense of adventure, along with the condition of the “road.” It had rained recently and the road was sloppy with soft spots, but as we plowed through each of the mud holes, we knew they required just enough effort to give us a tale to tell. Little did we know we’d have a much bigger story to tell about driving over Indian Pass.

This path was a utility access road, that followed the natural contour of the valley floor. There had been no roadwork to flatten the peaks or fill in the dips or to grade it to even it out, but we loved it. As the road twisted it rocked us back and forth; as we drove over rocks and ruts we bounced up and down and almost out of the Jeep! What we didn’t realize as we drove along was that the road was gradually climbing to an elevation at the end of the valley of nearly 4,000 feet. The consistency of the road was changing too – it was more rock than soil and the rock was shale, a brittle rock that easily breaks and splinters with razor-sharp edges. Taken together, these facts were about to make this ride much bumpier.

I’ll never forget it – in one moment we were happily twisting, turning and bouncing in our seas as Russ navigated the Jeep through the ruts and around the rocks in the road, constantly shifting to lower gears as we went over a hill, or higher gears to as we met a dip in the road, maximizing the Jeep’s ability to overcome the road’s obstacles. Genie and I sat in the back, singing Beatles songs and enjoying this “thrill ride.” We never gave a thought to the possibility that this could be dangerous. Despite the uneven road, we were making a steady 25-30 miles per hour when we rounded a curve and Russ suddenly slammed on the brakes.

The abrupt stop threw Genie and me against the backs of the front seats and it sent Russ and Kim lurching into the dashboard. Luckily no one was hurt and as we got back into our seats we could seen what caused Russ’ swift reaction. From my perspective in the back seat the road appeared to end at the edge of the cliff. We all got out and then we could see that the road did continue, but it was as steep as the first downhill slope of a roller coaster only without the rails to guide us down. I couldn’t believe that anyone had intentionally built a road this steep. It was INCREDIBLE! I don’t think I’ve ever been on even ski slope that steep, let alone a road. To make matters worse, the road consisted of thousands of chunks of loose, sharp, shifting pieces of broken shale. Now this really was an adventure.

Russ and Kim immediately started to consider the options. We could go back the way we came, but where was the adventure in that? We could just go for it – that would be high on adventure but just as dangerous as we wouldn’t be able to slow our descent. The brakes were of little use to us because the Jeep would just slide on the broken shale. If we couldn’t slow the Jeep, we could get going too fast, lose control and veer off the road into the trees. The gears offered one possibility – but even in low gear there was no guarantee that we could go slow enough to maintain control. There was another gear that proved to be the answer: reverse.

One thing was certain – Genie and I were walking down – that was treacherous enough as the sharp-edged shale slid beneath us with each step – but it was still much safer than being in the Jeep. Russ and Kim got in and Russ slowly drove the Jeep over the crest of the hill.  As soon as the Jeep hit the shale, it immediately began to slide and twist sideways. Russ put the Jeep in reverse and while it continued to slide, the backwards-turning wheels provided just enough resistance to allow Russ to straighten it out and slow it down so Russ could maintain control. it probably took only about five minutes for Russ to drive the Jeep to the bottom of of the steep, shale-covered slope, but it seemed much longer as we all held our breath in anticipation.

When they finally reached the bottom of the slope safely, we all gave up a cheer and piled back into the Jeep. The road was again soil and in much better shape than the one through the valley. We continued on at a good pace and before long we surprisingly came to the highway along Turnagain Arm. The Alaska Railroad runs alongside that highway and as we turned onto the pavement, we noticed a railroad location marker that cleared up one mystery. It read simply, “Indian.”