delayed escape

My second visit of America's northern most brewery in a week.  Not sure what that says of me or northern breweries.  This one is brought to you via Ted Stevens International Airport.  The first was at it actual location in Fox, just north of Fairbanks AK for those needing more precise landmarks of somewhat familiar locations.

Well despite what the title suggests I'm actually not trying to escape SouthCentral Alaska.  Far from it in fact, it is just as a Sourdough, yup I've got my card as I took a shit in a friend's outhouse at 30 below, I'm leery to the lingering winter future. Besides my Southeastern destination of Juneau is snowed in and thus a major stack up on the big board.  Funny thing about Juneau and Anchorage- one is jealous of the other and the other simply does not give a shit.  Given that most of the high roller out of town oil assholes are here in ANC and the other is the state capital I'll let you make the decision as to who has daddy issues.

That being said I have had the honor, pleasure, and pain of living in both locales.  I like both regions yet my heart lies in SouthCentral.  A disclaimer: most of my time up here- up versus yet another region the Interior and its more intense North Slope brother, has been spent in Indian.  Another disclaimer:  most folks in Anchorage which has about half the population of Alaska have not even heard of Indian.  In fact several folks upon hearing my answer to their question, "where do you live?"
say" Indiana?" " No god dammit I said Indian."  Listen to my words.  Besides I'm from Ohio not that hoosier state of Indiana.  Trying to paint a visual I say its about half way from the city and the hippie little ski resort town.  Then since most folks don't even understand that I ask if they are familiar with the Brown Bear roadhouse.  Some know: these are the people who upon entry to the bear don't get acknowledgement of even being alive for five minutes.  Normally this would be a major faux pas in customer service but you have not met Matty.  Not only that but visual inspection of a valid ID is required at this point is required to purchase their poor choice in non Alaskan beer.

Me on the other hand can stroll in and lately get asked, "so do you want an APA?"  Wow you may might as well scream out Norm, ignore my beer tab of $1000's and make me captain of the inept softball team.  Guess I'm dating myself there, well somebody has to- another rant later in this post.  Not that I'm a regular there- I'm not regular anywhere- since my backcountry days in WA I'm not regular period.  Enough about unmentionables, habits, and other items.

Indian Alaska is home to Turnagain Arm, Indian Valley meats, belugas, bears that are mostly black, homesteader wanna-bes, and the Chugach.  Well of course that is a generalization but you get the picture I hope.  Anchorage which I've heard called Oinkerage or the standard line is- "well you can see the real Alaska about 30 minutes away."  This statement is really shallow, short sighted, and inaccurate.  #1 there are several moose in Anchorage and I'm not talking about on the fringes of town, they are downtown.  #2 drunks are falling into the streets- this sad fact happens everywhere up here I think it is less per capita then in smaller towns.  #3 I can see Denali on clear days, not only that but the Chigmit Range is often in plain view.  Sure other cities across the world have amazing views of mountains such as Seattle and Mt. Rainier. #4 dogsled races, XC skiing, other non traditional pursuits happen here in town.  All this being said I'm not an apologist for big cities or small ones like Anchorage that are smaller than Peoria in population.  Guess I'm making comments on observations that I have made.  Like the stand up comedian yet I don't get laughs or free drinks- yet.

So the odd are good yet the goods are odd.  Ladies I feel for you in this case.  Instead of wearing fuck me boots us guys wear X-tra tuffs like a badge of honor- some to weddings.  We are fat, we are lazy, and we are stupid.  If not in an oversized truck we are zipping around on a revved up sled.  If not that then a boat whose job it is to cater to rich down south folk who wanna go fishin.  Your choices are slim and we are not.  Sure it gets lonely during the long dark and darkness of winter.  But you should consider Florida or even Texas.  I am not but I'm not from here.

Killing what you love

During this current furlough, I've had opportunities to visit friends across the country. Eventually my destination was home and even more familiar ground. Unfinished business was to be be finished at last: the murder of my lifelong friend. Maybe murder is too strong a word for cutting down a tree , furthermore friend is not strong enough a word for the tree.

Marietta , the first permanent settlement in the Northwest Territory (circa 1788), lies along the Ohio river. This historic town is more in touch with its past than its present. Change occurs at a glacier pace if at all. Thus the setting for my upbringing.

One of my first memories of my hometown after moving from Columbus is as follows. On a summer night looking into the dusky outline of my backyard treeline, I suddenly freaked out and ran back into the house. Normally this would not be a problem for a 6 year old, but I was standing outside at the time on our patio. During my retreat to the safety of the indoors I ran straight thought the screen door which somehow didn't break but managed to flip up towards the family room ceiling. The dark and the darkness had scared me into the my bed by 9.

The diurnal hours for the next 10 years often found me in the same forbidden wilderness. Upon further examination they were neither forbidden nor wilderness. The sentinel over this backyard wilderness was a box wood elder. This wasn't any tree this was the prominent backyard tree.

A tree whose shade allowed for late afternoon archeological diggings in the sandbox sitting adjacent.

After outgrowing the sandbox, we relocated a picnic table in its place. This tree served as base during games of tag, even third base in neighborhood baseball games. Tackle football games saw the stationary blocker spring the runner for a touchdown jaunt.

With ample unstructured downtime, I as a child would climb the tree as if it where my own mountain, or castle, or glacier. Additionally it served as a fort not only for me but G.I. Figures who scaled Everest sized walls.

As the seasons turned the tree was our landmark. Dark and empty in the winter with occasional graceful snow coverings. As March came around green buds would suddenly launch full blown into summer. Then my favorite, fall and my sister and I would take turns climbing the tree to jump up and down shaking the helicopter shaped seeds free. One could easily become dizzy by looking straight up into the sky following the wind blown toys.

Recently this long time friend has aged like most of us hope to: with some relative function and form of times past while maintaining dignity. More and more sections of the tree were dying. Woodpeckers took full advantage, drilling for food within. Wind gusts would cause branches to fall upon the lawn. Lastly, one entire quadrant was dead. The time to take action was here.

My father managed to fell the dead quad, leaving the remainder of the tree for me. Despite all my expressed admiration for this tree, I was excited to be to one who was to fell my friend. Like the dog owner who puts down their long time friend, I too was to kill what I loved.

We borrowed the neighbor's chainsaw as our was too small. After sizing up my dad and I agreed the dormant garden would make the perfect landing spot. This would miss the buckeye trees and the boat. Secretly I wanted hit the boat as it has been land bound for 15 years. A direct hit would led into a desired action, removal of said boat.

The face cut was made, rather shallow in case of interior rot. However my back cut was not deep enough and the wedges just would not do the job. Thus we rigged up a winch and over time were able to bring down the tree with a sudden thud. The tree defiant till the end was then bucked into manageable rounds or directly into firewood.

Two regrets linger in my brain: not climbing the tree one final time and eliminating the chance of my niece of having the same opportunity of years of joy with a backyard tree.

 

Winter migration: San Diego edition



Women paint their surroundings at Cabrillo National Monument

To gain perspective , often one must remove oneself from their normal routine.  The normal routine, Alaska, not being routine for this hillbilly from Ohio,thus gaining perspective has become even more imperative. 

Having watched Arctic terns inhabit the Potter Marsh during the summer, I've decided to mimic a small portion of their annual journey.  Anchorage to San Diego is not even 1/3 of the birds pole to pole journey.  But I don't have an aunt in Antarctica thus San Diego will suffice. 

A winter furlough presented options of: holing up in my Proenneke like cabin along Turnagain Arm, moving to Anchorage and scraping together part time jobs before a temporary relocation to Juneau and lastly travelling to and fro soaking up sun, experience, and reconnecting with friends and family.

As great as it would have been to be on constant lookout for northern lights sightings and learning the finer points of avoiding frostbite, the travel bug bit hard and won hands down.

Upon arrival to southern California two things immediately happened.  My bare feet came out of hiding and I rented a bike.  An entrepreneur had the idea of delivering bikes to his clients locations.  Car less as my aunt was at work, this was an important factor.  Within an hour of the call a hybrid was dropped off complete with helmet and lock.  Liberated I took to the streets and felt the marine air penetrate into the deepest recesses of my lungs.  That smell, that ocean air smell.  So familiar yet so far removed.  Even though my cabin was along Turnagain Arm, I hadn't experienced a coast with open ocean since the Redwoods last June.  The experts profess that our sense of smell is capable of recalling our most distant memories.  After retrieving my bags and stepping outside of San Diego's airport, I must agree.  There was an instantaneous sense of place due to the aroma that an ocean breeze can only deliver.

Having visited countless times before I was not seeking the first timer San Diego vacation.  Thus no zoo , no Balboa Park, no Gaslamp etc etc.  No pleasures were to be much simpler:  waking up when I wanted, feeling the 70 degrees temperature in December, and watching the locals partake in their normal routines.

Stop for a moment and consider what the locals do:  at 11 am on a Monday full grown adults are pulling off boneless and pop shove-it tricks at the local skate park.  In Ocean Beach woman are walking their dogs via skateboard in the middle of the road, and of course the surfers are chasing the waves from dusk till dawn. Sure the weather allows for the constant pursuit of one's given pursuit.  Yet it is still up to the individual to do what one loves and love what one does. 

This is the encapsulation of the California way of life that I have come to know and try to follow.  The fact that my mailing address isn't California doesn't present that large of a problem.  The attitude once experienced and adapted travels well but damn that 70 degrees sure does help.

It was on a hike in Cuyamaca State Park that I realized that I was on such a migration.  The vast open landscape and crisp air allowed the mind to wonder and take in all the stimuli.  A wondering mind can be a dangerous thing.  Wild adventurous thoughts sprout up out of nowhere.  With only six months remaining for my hard core 30's club card the draw is to continue the migration till June.  But eventually reality sets in.  This trip should allow for the reality to settle in and be more successful.

Natty dread like crown of an ancient Ponderosa Pine atop Cuyamaca Peak

The Dark and the Darkness

The Dark and The Darkness

Who's afraid of the dark?

Given the proper circumstances we all are

the monster lurking under your bed

a night light for nocturnal ventures

down a corridor you've traveled 1000's of times before

even as an adult a power outage can lead to freaking out

or an impromptu make out session

The Darkness

that lizard brain flight or fight response

not due to the dark

instead its a much more deep rooted thing

buried under false memories

in the far unnamed cortexes of the brain

pushed down- drowning in the well of our hearts

slinking around with a monkey wrench in our soul

inky skies leaving one with a sense of floating

there are no shades of gray

its love or hate

yes or no

in or out

so which is it?

Even at high noon on the Solstice its there

it is the reason you drink

the reason you take drugs

the reason you cheat on your partner

the reason you beat your wife

the reason you burn down the house

Dark skies above portend of evil

The bad guys wear always wear black

things that go bump in the night

the unknown

yet it is the known

The Darkness that is scariest of all

things people don't know about you

things that you don't talk about

things you try to avoid thinking about

The things that are the root of the problem

The monster- and everyone has one

is what sets it off

but the monster is just a spark

the gas can is the time your uncle raped you

your friends left you

your disease raised its ugly head

your country betrayed you

If asked again

whose afraid of the dark?

I'll reply its the Darkness that scares me.

The monster - well in this instance (more detailed account in next entry)

Deep and Wide

Recent events have led to in depth thinking, reexamining, reconsidering, and self questioning. Two words best summarize these mental exercises: Deep and Wide

Full of gusto, caffeine, and rare vitamin D from the disk in the sky, found me fifteen minutes ahead of my two hiking partners. With precious alone time, I allowed the surroundings guide me not necessarily to the obvious end.

The end being the terminus of Eagle Glacier. My first unhired guide was the surprising array of colors amongst the canyon walls: rusty orange, gun barrel gray, blinding snow reflecting glare and its near cousin and ominous shady overlay. Eleven shades of glacier blue was ahead, past the midnight black of the scoured out walls.

Thanks to Juan for taking this picture as I head across the second lake en route to Eagle Glacier

Without thinking or reason, I wound atop a house sized boulder sitting as if waiting for the next guide to continue the sensory tour. Unannounced guides made their grand entrance by dropping hundreds of feet off knife scraped edges towards the snow covered bottom of the U shaped valley floor. Movements did not match the arrival of sound as the valley played a game of hide and seek. My locating device was unable to locate these sound producers, thus I had no idea how large the pebble, rock, boulder, or slab was The lack of resounding booms put my mind at ease.

Standing alone with my thoughts, totally aware of my surroundings and nothing else. No distractions this was total freedom, freedom of the mind. Time became a second by second account of history in action. Listening to rocks fall, seeing finely crushed gravel beneath larger rocks and then the glacier itself. Understanding of a process was beginning to become a reality. Away from a lecture , theory, or story I was present amidst the daily operations of a glacier.

Suddenly I understood how it works and why it works. The glacier was showing me her secrets. They weren't hidden, it just took freedom of the mind and patience. Eagle Glacier was the literal Deep and Wide.

Other events led to more figurative interpretations of the Deep and Wide.

The scene: a large living room parts late 80's home entertainment center, part thrift store well worn furniture. My familiar comfy reading room was transformed. All the windows were covered up and scores of tea lights placed around the periphery of the room. Additionally, tiny aluminum foil islands were placed on the golden shag carpet and illuminated by even more tea lights. Imagine looking down from the sky and seeing a chain of islands manned with lighthouses and beacons to guide one safely home.

Once set, the guests were invited up to sit on the floor in a circle. Some of the guests had been here before, returning because their experience was worth repeating. Newcomers traveled from locations including: Vermont, Iowa, Michigan, Kansas, and California. This being the middle of March it resembled the opening round for NCAA basketball tourney and its country wide representation.

The guests, more specifically SAGA's new AmeriCorps Crew Leaders were given a back story and instructions for the impending ceremony. The talking device was a Tlingit style paddle and the holder of said item was the lone speaker. After three days of living together, the Crew Leaders had been getting to know one another through various activities and lessons. They were receiving an introduction to the upcoming season. But now something more personal, deeper, and thought provoking on both the listener and speaker side was about to take place. The task at hand was to answer the question: why are you here? But with one caveat. Not the stock answer because I want to see Alaska, no why are you really here?

After the instructions were orated the talking stick was placed in the middle of the candlelit room. Silence followed, a time to think and gather one's thoughts. Finally, someone stood up and deliberately walked to the middle and took possession of the talking device. She expounded on her reasons as everyone else listened and began to get a deeper understanding of the speaker and their motivations.

A clockwise rotation developed and participants shared or passed as this was a challenge by choice proceeding. How often have you been in a gathering of greater than 30 and been able to share heavy thoughts with people who three days ago prior were perfect strangers? The ceremony took on a magical feeling between the heartfelt two way communication of active listening and open speaking. The flickering of candles set the comforting tone. The task was difficult both for listening and formulation one's own answer.

Upon my opportunity words sputtered out, coherent during formulation but scattered in practice. Something about building community and following my passions. After finishing I intently listened to all remaining in the room. Closing was a mimicry exercise. Sounds were produced with our hands to simulate a passing rainstorm. The leader started snapping fingers and it went around the room until the next movement. I closed my eyes and could fell the rain wash away fears and apprehensions and was left with clean refreshed feeling.

After further examination of my explanation, I'm still not sure of the Deep and Wide reasons as to why I'm here out the road in Juneau, AK. Perhaps the next visit with a glacier will allow me the time and patience to seek the true answers.

Add another to the list

As a relative newcomer to Alaska, I'm experiencing many unique things for the first time. From the disappoint of learning about a state wide ban on happy hour to seeing a marbled murrelet. As the seasons progress and my travels expand my expectations will change accordingly. Among them are seeing the northern lights and playing midnight baseball.

This weekend an unexpected mammal sighting caught me off guard. Happened to glance out the window of the Eagle Valley Center (EVC), my current residence, as I'm so prone to do with its several inviting vistas . The new snow highlighted two dark objects upstream about 250 meters away. Nearly brushed them off as two dogs ahead of their owners on a President's Day stroll.

Something didn't jive though. The behavior seemed more purposeful than that of domesticated canines. I looked out the front window and the parking lot was devoid of any visiting cars. The animals displayed an unusual interest in the stream. It donned on me that these were not dogs but wolves.

Even from a distance their size didn't match my romanticized vision of terrors of the wild running down an elk, moose, caribou, annoying lap dog, or other. Nonetheless I was excited yet almost letdown, does it count to see such amazing creatures through my living room window? The scenario of a first sighting was to be over the course of a camping trip. First, my sleep would be interrupted by far off howling. Then, the next day I would witness tracks and then sign of a kill. Finally, in the distance the magnificent beast would make its presence be known.

This is not a hoax, the best I could do to recreate the seen.  Oh and to extoll the virtues of Juneau's awesome used bookstore- its called the Amazing Bookstore- this field guide was $1

As it was through my living room window my brain must have been playing tricks. My mental Rolodex of dog like creatures did a double take: too big for a coyote and the behavior wasn't right for even a husky or similar dog of the north. It left only one possibility, a wolf.

I had just heard about a recent local black wolf regularly seen at Mendenhall Glacier, so it was not unheard of in these parts. This wolf was later shot and a memorial was held. Alaskan Brewery will not confirm or deny if the image of a black wolf on the label of their soon to be departing seasonal black IPA was a coincidence or no. When I saw the EVC caretaker and ran the details past him, he concurred and added that wolves in Southeast Alaska tend to be a little smaller than their counterparts of the interior.

My unconfirmed sighting was cemented furthermore by another sighting on Tuesday. While headed south between Methodist Camp and the EVC, two co workers and I spotted yet another wolf on the east side meadow. We knew to look because a vehicle was pulled off the side of the road with both passengers peering though binoculars. Adam instantly saw what they were studying, wolf number three in two days for me! Come spring I'm looking forward to my first Grizzly sighting and the summer seasonal from ABC.

Report from the Ketchikan office

Open ocean travel for me has been limited to angling in the Gulf Stream off the coast of South Carolina. The Boston Whaler was probably shorter than my van. My semi circular canal didn't stand a chance to the 10 feet swells. A hurt sense of pride and vomit lined mouth were overcome by a mackerel wrestled from the abyss by the legendary John Vaughn.

Fast forward nearly three decades and I find myself riding a ferry bound for Alaska. Our route hugs the Canadian coast like a shifty tailback tiptoeing down the sidelines on a breakaway touchdown run. Weaving thru the Strait of Georgia, land appears through the fog. Islands ,100's of them, varying in size. Some big enough to support houses, others look life tree topped muffins wedged between hostile unforgiving rocky coast line.

Prior to our entrance to Queen Charlotte Sound the intercom springs to life. The captain alerts us to the approaching short stretch of open water. “We can expect 45 knot winds and rough seas ahead,” for effect the deck hand in the cafeteria goes from table to table offering barf bags. I watch from afar, taking in who has the intestinal fortitude and who doesn't. Naturally when the time comes, I take the bag. Quickly a Dramamine is washed down with a swig of coffee. I don't regret my decision, it made an obvious bookmark.

The lead up to the journey was made up of equal parts excitement, fear, and frustration. Lets tackle these in reverse order. The biggest frustration other than expense was the parring down and of my possessions. Not to mention why in the hell do I need 300 pencils for students I no longer teach. If one had the ability to ask the great minds of Darwin, Nietzsche, and Lebowski what makes a man the answers would vary. Something in the way of evolution, genes, chromosomes, blood types, DNA strands, cultures, languages, twitter feeds, favorite burger joints, and stuff. Stuff being possessions, we own the stuff or does the stuff own us, George Carlin anyone?

Thus the giveaway to friends and thrift store began. Countless hiking guides and maps of numerous states throughout the west, most places I've never heard of and certainly have never been. Passed on to others who thus will probably never hear of or visit. Field guides of regions far removed from the Inside Passage. Might as well be honest, never learned the scientific name of the Buckeye, my home state tree. Upon establishing myself in Alaska, naturally I look forward to accumulating more stuff.

The fear kicked in one day prior to departure. What if my vehicle can't make the trip from Seattle to Bellingham, southern most Alaska ferry terminal. The beast, old blue, Big Betty, Lucky 13, G Money, and the Lorax, all proper nomenclature applied to my ride. That damn thing still has life, just how much is the question. To put my mind at ease a new coat of duct tape was applied to the side view mirror. Rest assured.

Lastly, excitement. This is a natural feeling whenever headed to a new destination. Alaska, the Last Frontier lies ahead. A place I've always have wanted to see and now will be living there.