A Brasilia for the North

Alaskans plan a new capital at the foot of Mount McKinley

It is an alpine valley of unparalleled beauty, a spruce-and-birch wilderness without roads or ski lifts or other signs of human intrusion. Only the howl of the wind--or of an occasional wolf--now disturbs the silence. But man is on the way. Last week the Alaska capital site planning commission chose the design of a new state capital to rise in the valley. Unless opponents of the plan develop unexpected new strength, this idyllic subarctic landscape will become a kind of Brasilia of the North--though hardly as monumental as its Latin counterpart and far more in harmony with the unspoiled surroundings.

Ever since the turn of the century, Alaska's seat of government has been the old gold-rush town of Juneau (pop. 16,400). Situated far down the clawlike panhandle that Alaskans call Southeastern, Juneau is so distant from Alaska's geographic or population centers that its clocks run two hours ahead of those in Anchorage, the state's major city (pop. 161,600). Surrounded by water on one side and awesome glaciers on the other, Juneau is accessible only by boat or plane; frequent rains and fog and surrounding lofty mountains often make landings a pilot's nightmare. For these reasons, Alaskans have long debated a possible change of capitals. In 1974, after two unsuccessful initiatives, they finally voted to make the move, and the hunt began for a new site.

In a state twice as large as Texas, but with only half the population of Washington, D.C., the choices would seem limitless. But planners were faced with many troublesome restrictions. Because of the intense rivalry between Anchorage and Fairbanks, the No. 2 city (pop. 52,200). both were ruled out. For the same reason, the new capital had to be at least 30 miles from either locality. Also the land had to be state owned; anticipating large new tax revenues from the booming oil fields and the trans-Alaska pipeline, Alaska has gone on a spending binge that has brought it to the edge of bankruptcy; thus the state could not afford expensive land purchases.

There were other considerations. The climate of the site had to be reasonably benevolent, and the annual snowfall modest. The soil had to be firm (which automatically excluded the four-fifths of Alaska that is shifting, meltable permafrost), and it had to be less prone to earthquakes and volcanic eruptions than are many other parts of the seismically active state. Finally, as a symbol of the rugged grandeur of America's last frontier, the site had to be scenically impressive without intruding on salmon-spawning streams, bear dens or other wildlife sanctuaries.

After months of crisscrossing the state by helicopter and bush plane, the nine-member selection committee narrowed the choices to three sites, all in the Susitna Valley, an area where wildlife and a few homesteaders still live in uneasy truce. The most remote locale was on the southerly slope of a grassy, 4.000-ft. rise called Mount Yenlo. Another possibility was at the edge of a lake near the town of Talkeetna. The third was the pristine patch of land on heights in the southern part of the valley, about 35 miles north of Anchorage. State voters picked the valley in a 1976 referendum. At the foot of 20,320-ft. Mount McKinley, North America's highest peak, the area is almost totally untouched. The nearest trace of civilization is six miles away: the tiny hamlet of Willow (pop. 577)--the "sort of place," writes Author John McPhee in his paean to Alaska, Coming into the Country, "where it is not unknown, in the dead of winter, for an old moose hunter to die in his cabin and be brought into town frozen solid."

If state planners have their way, moose will still be around after the city is built. Envisioning a community of about 30,000 by 1990, the planning commission picked a preliminary blueprint, submitted by the San Francisco architectural firm of Bull, Field, Volkmann & Stockwell, that should reassure environmentalists everywhere. In the words of Mort Hop-penfeld, the commission's executive director and dean of architecture at the University of New Mexico, it is "sensitive to what Alaska wants to be like --contemporary log cabin."

To carry out that rustic vision required considerable inspiration. When Alaska relocated its capital from the old Russian city of Sitka to Juneau in 1906, the move involved only six employees and seven file cabinets. The new city proposed by the San Francisco architects will involve the construction of a thoroughly planned community, in which every feature--from housing to entertainment facilities--is part of a master scheme. The actual locale will be a ridge overlooking several small lakes scooped out of the valley's muskegs (bogs).

All traffic will be barred from the compact downtown area, thus eliminating the traffic snarls that choke Anchorage. Buildings and shops will be connected by enclosed arcades (to protect pedestrians from winter temperatures that drop as low as -- 30DEG F.), and even the most distant residences will be no more than a half-mile walk (or ski) away. The town's architectural focus will not be a gold-domed legislative chamber but a structure called the Commons. Built of steel and wood materials and only three stories high, it will include a museum, shops and even an indoor park. Near by will be equally unobtrusive buildings for various branches of the government as well as other facilities, including a convention hotel, shopping center, hockey rink and apartments for transient legislators. In addition, there have to be new roads through the wild, providing a link to Willow and in turn tieing existing highways to Anchorage and Fairbanks.

Private housing, schools and small shops will be just outside the downtown area, within easy reach of a clear, trout-filled stream just north of the town. There, as one official notes, residents will be able to hear "the wind of the willow, the babble of Deception Creek." Most inspiring of all, on a clear day they will be able to look northwest and see McKinley --the peak that native Alaskans have always called Denali ("The Great One"). Comments City Planner Alan Rivkin of Washington, D.C., a consultant to the commission: "This new capital will be an embodiment of what is best in the state of Alaska."

Still, some time may pass before construction begins. Pockets of resistance remain; some residents of Juneau and Fairbanks, annoyed because the new site is close to Anchorage, are still trying to scuttle the move. No one knows yet how the future capital will be financed (estimated cost: $2.64 billion) or even what it will be called. One obvious possibility: Denali.

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