Sunday, July 31, 2011
Go Ahead, Call Me Ishmael
July 17, 2011
To me, to truly “live in this world” means taking advantage of every opportunity to go to, to see, to experience as many exotic places and to do as many fantastic things as possible; to live a carpe diem lifestyle. To this end, I, long ago, created what I call “My Life List”. I’ve done a rather fine job of checking things off my list over my, now, five decades. I’ve jumped out of a plane; marveled at the pyramids; dived with sharks; floated the Grand Canyon; etc. (Note: My list is somewhat flexible. I admit that I have added to, subtracted from, and revised my list over time. For example: I no longer need to go to the top of Everest; a simple trip trekking in Nepal will suffice. And doing twenty back handsprings down the middle of a football field, well, I’ll have to save that one for another life.)
Remaining steadfast on this list however, has been: See(a) Whale(s).
In the quote above I guess that part about “without being of it”, means: don’t sweat the small stuff; seek equanimity; find peace in adversity; stay even-keeled; level-headed; centered; balanced; non-dualed; zen-ified; etc. But the Leviathan on my list has loomed too large for too long so on the day we went whale watching I was not at peace. I was disappointed in the cloudy, chilliness of day. The boat was bustling with too many overly-excited whale-wanting world wanderers and even though 'I are one' I'm not as pushy as the Japanese and not as noisy as the Germans. But, worst of all, was the Kenai Fjords National Park Ranger who got on the loudspeaker to welcome us on board our ship. As we backed out of the dock, Ranger Ann launched into her rules, regulations, and repertoire of disclaimers.
Her accent, while authentically Alaskan and Palinesque, lacked Sarah’s enthusiasm and good humour. Her attitude was at best bland, and at worst quite discouraging. She kept saying words like “doubtful”, “improbable”, “I don’t think” and “we have only blank percent chance of seeing a blank”. I felt that with that negative juju we wouldn’t have a chance. I feared she was jinxing us. Besides, what ever happened to all the good looking, masculine park rangers of my youth? She was frumpy looking in that traditional drab olive park service uniform (you could even see her panty lines, and that’s just not right!) Humph!
But, I should have been more whale-like and serene, I should have not let my blood boil, I should not have become so indignant, because for every negative there is a positive and on this day Ann’s antithesis was her counterpart on board; our boat captain. Another non-stereotype, Captain Nicole was a 20-something, pretty blond who smartly presented in her starched, nautical uniform--no bearded drunken sailor she; no wizened, cigarette-lipped, foul-mouthed crabber boss from Deadliest Catch either. She was perfectly perky and positive.
(It turns out Nicole and I were on the same, albeit unspoken and unacknowledged, wavelength. I think she wasn’t too keen on the old, monotone codfish either. She seemed determined to show Ann a thing or two about nature scouting. That and/or, she was on a mission to show this boatload of tourists so much stinking wildlife in a day that we’d be begging to get off her boat out of sensory overload.)
So with an “anchor’s aweigh” and with the vigor of Ahab in his Pequod we set out to find my Moby.
We weren’t halfway out of the harbor--and just as Ranger Ann was warning us about nature “being unpredictable”--when Captain Nicole interrupted to say, “there’s our first sighting now!” A proud bald eagle stood sunning himself right there on the lane marker. Each tourist’s camera captured the nation’s scavenger symbol from every angle. Soon afterwards, Ann started up again about how “animals don’t punch a time card”, Nicole came on again to say “excuse me, but there’s a sea otter”. She then proceeded to drive a wide circle around the belly-side-up, old-man be-whiskered ball of fur. Click. Click. Click. One regal and one adorable in the first minute and a half. Ha-ha!
This scenario continued to play out: Dall porpoises, (which look like mini-killer whales with their sleek black and white bodies; orange-billed horned puffins; a black bear lumbering about on the wooded shoreline... And then, not too many miles out into Resurrection Bay, Nicole was heard to say “Ah, there ya’ go—a pod of orcas”. And indeed, despite the odds, there swam some six of the piebald Sea World favorites. One was obviously a mother whose half-sized baby at her side goal for the day was to learn some new tail tricks; another was, perhaps, an older brother because he was feisty and full of “youthful exuberance”, blowing and breaching and zooming around. Meanwhile, I’m overwhelmed with joy, I’m glazed over with awe, there are tears in my eyes and my teenagers are embarrassed by my emotion. Another item to check off My Life List. Sigh......
After that we steamed down to the end of Holgate Arm to watch and listen as boulder-sized torquoise-colored icebergs broke off (or calved) into the sea. Pretty powerful stuff that; thousand year old ice moving before our very eyes. Floating in that bay was like being a fly in a big Cola Slushee. The water was silty and filled with icey floaters. On one rested a seal.
And then, more orcas! Nicole spotted them again and even old Ann was even starting to sound excited; “So rare to see them at all, twice in one day is remarkable!”
Again, I choked up with gratitude from this gift from the sea gods and goddesses. After that I was feeling pretty satisfied (eleven whales at least!) so I could simply sit back and enjoy the cat-calling cacophony of the thousands of black-legged kittiwakes nesting on the cliffy walls, chuckle at the penquin-like antics of the tuxedoed common murres. It was as we were powering over to find the lounging brown blobs of the endangered Steller sea lions when we stumbled upon my true Moby--a lone humpback. Eureka!!
For several minutes the whale had the indistinct look of a submerged log. Then, with a spew of watery air, the slinkyfied motion of a scintillated dorsal roll, and with a flip of its fluke it was gone. Ranger Ann explained that that motion was a dive and that he'd probably be under for 10-12 minutes, at least. Captain Nicole was already feeling a little behind schedule because as she said we'd "already followed that second orca pod halfway to Hawaii”. She told us, “Okay folks, we’ll give him five minutes, but this is not just a whale-watching tour and it’s definitely not a whale-waiting tour so we’ll have to move on if he doesn’t resurface soon.”
By now, I’d finagled my way through the photo-snapping Asians and stationed myself at the bow, I didn’t quite have the look of Kate Winslet in Titanic, nor the cockiness of Leonardo’s character, but I was determined to see that whale again. And lo and behold, about five minutes later, it was I, my very self, who cried the “thar she blows” and pointed straight ahead. (I guess whether male or female whale the pronoun is always feminine in this fisherman’s phrase?) Anyway, this time at the surface he spouted off several times then started a major twacking game with his tail vs. the sea. He’d raise his huge, black fluke and bang at the water over and over again, then he’d roll over on his back and slap it for awhile more. The underside of his tail was a beautiful mottled-marble. Then, just as the captain lamented that we simply had to go, the great humpback almost anthropomorphically waved goodbye with a lift of his 10 foot flipper.
Ranger Ann, her negativity was now thoroughly dashed--her monotoned you-betcha-banter now enthusiastic amazemen--by all the tail banging behaviour. She explained it as either “youthful exuberance” (again) or, perhaps, he did this stun his dinner of fish and krill below making them easier to catch and eat. She said she’d never seen a whale "tail lob" for so long. She, the captain, the crew too, not to mention the ship passengers were as stunned as the little fishies. We motored away in a silence that occurs after witnessing a miracle. (Even the Germans were quiet for awhile.)
"Moby Dick, I clutch thy heart at last." says Ahab near the end of the epic. Truly, though, it was the whale who captured my heart--all of our hearts--on this day in the Kenai.
“O, man! admire and model thyself after the whale!
Do thou, too, remain warm among ice.
Do thou, too, live in this world without being of it.
Be cool at the equator; keep thy blood fluid at the Pole.
Like the great dome of St. Peter’s and like the great whale retain,
O man! in all seasons a temperature of thine own.”
Ishmael, Moby Dick, by Herman Melville
To me, to truly “live in this world” means taking advantage of every opportunity to go to, to see, to experience as many exotic places and to do as many fantastic things as possible; to live a carpe diem lifestyle. To this end, I, long ago, created what I call “My Life List”. I’ve done a rather fine job of checking things off my list over my, now, five decades. I’ve jumped out of a plane; marveled at the pyramids; dived with sharks; floated the Grand Canyon; etc. (Note: My list is somewhat flexible. I admit that I have added to, subtracted from, and revised my list over time. For example: I no longer need to go to the top of Everest; a simple trip trekking in Nepal will suffice. And doing twenty back handsprings down the middle of a football field, well, I’ll have to save that one for another life.)
Remaining steadfast on this list however, has been: See(a) Whale(s).
In the quote above I guess that part about “without being of it”, means: don’t sweat the small stuff; seek equanimity; find peace in adversity; stay even-keeled; level-headed; centered; balanced; non-dualed; zen-ified; etc. But the Leviathan on my list has loomed too large for too long so on the day we went whale watching I was not at peace. I was disappointed in the cloudy, chilliness of day. The boat was bustling with too many overly-excited whale-wanting world wanderers and even though 'I are one' I'm not as pushy as the Japanese and not as noisy as the Germans. But, worst of all, was the Kenai Fjords National Park Ranger who got on the loudspeaker to welcome us on board our ship. As we backed out of the dock, Ranger Ann launched into her rules, regulations, and repertoire of disclaimers.
Her accent, while authentically Alaskan and Palinesque, lacked Sarah’s enthusiasm and good humour. Her attitude was at best bland, and at worst quite discouraging. She kept saying words like “doubtful”, “improbable”, “I don’t think” and “we have only blank percent chance of seeing a blank”. I felt that with that negative juju we wouldn’t have a chance. I feared she was jinxing us. Besides, what ever happened to all the good looking, masculine park rangers of my youth? She was frumpy looking in that traditional drab olive park service uniform (you could even see her panty lines, and that’s just not right!) Humph!
But, I should have been more whale-like and serene, I should have not let my blood boil, I should not have become so indignant, because for every negative there is a positive and on this day Ann’s antithesis was her counterpart on board; our boat captain. Another non-stereotype, Captain Nicole was a 20-something, pretty blond who smartly presented in her starched, nautical uniform--no bearded drunken sailor she; no wizened, cigarette-lipped, foul-mouthed crabber boss from Deadliest Catch either. She was perfectly perky and positive.
(It turns out Nicole and I were on the same, albeit unspoken and unacknowledged, wavelength. I think she wasn’t too keen on the old, monotone codfish either. She seemed determined to show Ann a thing or two about nature scouting. That and/or, she was on a mission to show this boatload of tourists so much stinking wildlife in a day that we’d be begging to get off her boat out of sensory overload.)
So with an “anchor’s aweigh” and with the vigor of Ahab in his Pequod we set out to find my Moby.
We weren’t halfway out of the harbor--and just as Ranger Ann was warning us about nature “being unpredictable”--when Captain Nicole interrupted to say, “there’s our first sighting now!” A proud bald eagle stood sunning himself right there on the lane marker. Each tourist’s camera captured the nation’s scavenger symbol from every angle. Soon afterwards, Ann started up again about how “animals don’t punch a time card”, Nicole came on again to say “excuse me, but there’s a sea otter”. She then proceeded to drive a wide circle around the belly-side-up, old-man be-whiskered ball of fur. Click. Click. Click. One regal and one adorable in the first minute and a half. Ha-ha!
This scenario continued to play out: Dall porpoises, (which look like mini-killer whales with their sleek black and white bodies; orange-billed horned puffins; a black bear lumbering about on the wooded shoreline... And then, not too many miles out into Resurrection Bay, Nicole was heard to say “Ah, there ya’ go—a pod of orcas”. And indeed, despite the odds, there swam some six of the piebald Sea World favorites. One was obviously a mother whose half-sized baby at her side goal for the day was to learn some new tail tricks; another was, perhaps, an older brother because he was feisty and full of “youthful exuberance”, blowing and breaching and zooming around. Meanwhile, I’m overwhelmed with joy, I’m glazed over with awe, there are tears in my eyes and my teenagers are embarrassed by my emotion. Another item to check off My Life List. Sigh......
After that we steamed down to the end of Holgate Arm to watch and listen as boulder-sized torquoise-colored icebergs broke off (or calved) into the sea. Pretty powerful stuff that; thousand year old ice moving before our very eyes. Floating in that bay was like being a fly in a big Cola Slushee. The water was silty and filled with icey floaters. On one rested a seal.
And then, more orcas! Nicole spotted them again and even old Ann was even starting to sound excited; “So rare to see them at all, twice in one day is remarkable!”
Again, I choked up with gratitude from this gift from the sea gods and goddesses. After that I was feeling pretty satisfied (eleven whales at least!) so I could simply sit back and enjoy the cat-calling cacophony of the thousands of black-legged kittiwakes nesting on the cliffy walls, chuckle at the penquin-like antics of the tuxedoed common murres. It was as we were powering over to find the lounging brown blobs of the endangered Steller sea lions when we stumbled upon my true Moby--a lone humpback. Eureka!!
For several minutes the whale had the indistinct look of a submerged log. Then, with a spew of watery air, the slinkyfied motion of a scintillated dorsal roll, and with a flip of its fluke it was gone. Ranger Ann explained that that motion was a dive and that he'd probably be under for 10-12 minutes, at least. Captain Nicole was already feeling a little behind schedule because as she said we'd "already followed that second orca pod halfway to Hawaii”. She told us, “Okay folks, we’ll give him five minutes, but this is not just a whale-watching tour and it’s definitely not a whale-waiting tour so we’ll have to move on if he doesn’t resurface soon.”
By now, I’d finagled my way through the photo-snapping Asians and stationed myself at the bow, I didn’t quite have the look of Kate Winslet in Titanic, nor the cockiness of Leonardo’s character, but I was determined to see that whale again. And lo and behold, about five minutes later, it was I, my very self, who cried the “thar she blows” and pointed straight ahead. (I guess whether male or female whale the pronoun is always feminine in this fisherman’s phrase?) Anyway, this time at the surface he spouted off several times then started a major twacking game with his tail vs. the sea. He’d raise his huge, black fluke and bang at the water over and over again, then he’d roll over on his back and slap it for awhile more. The underside of his tail was a beautiful mottled-marble. Then, just as the captain lamented that we simply had to go, the great humpback almost anthropomorphically waved goodbye with a lift of his 10 foot flipper.
Ranger Ann, her negativity was now thoroughly dashed--her monotoned you-betcha-banter now enthusiastic amazemen--by all the tail banging behaviour. She explained it as either “youthful exuberance” (again) or, perhaps, he did this stun his dinner of fish and krill below making them easier to catch and eat. She said she’d never seen a whale "tail lob" for so long. She, the captain, the crew too, not to mention the ship passengers were as stunned as the little fishies. We motored away in a silence that occurs after witnessing a miracle. (Even the Germans were quiet for awhile.)
 |
| Log or Leviathon? |
 |
| Tail Lobbing |
 |
| Mottle Tail |
 |
| Adieu! |
"Moby Dick, I clutch thy heart at last." says Ahab near the end of the epic. Truly, though, it was the whale who captured my heart--all of our hearts--on this day in the Kenai.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Clam Etiquette 101 or They’re funner to “catch” than clean!
July 15, 2011
We were last on Ninilchik sound
Where the Native was feeding her crowd
Her digging was furious
Her method imperious
But I got in her space and she frowned.
Okay, I admit it…maybe I was too zealous in my admiration of her technique. Perhaps, it’s true, I got just a little too close to the Clam Clan’s Grannie. But the beach had filled with people seeking the pock marks on the shore. Prime clamming space was getting limited. I, obviously, in my touristic ignorance and enthusiasm, had crossed an invisible threshold--all of the unseen creatures within a certain diameter were hers to hunt, that became apparent. I kept looking down and working frantically even while I felt her glare. My claim on her
clams was unwelcome. I got my prize of shame and slouched off, humiliated. After that, I noticed that my luck was gone. I’d do all the necessary prep but the slim balls fellows eluded me from then on.
My hands were sore, my knees wet and cold. I’m taking my bucket and going home.
She must have put a real hex on me because the whole clamming procedure continued to go downhill from there as the multistage cleaning process began; first you quickly dunk the whole thing in boiling water which opens them up; then you separate the innards from shell; next you toss the outtards and marvel at the disgusting treat.
“Leah, can you describe how the “cleaning” is done from this point on?” I ask.
“O, God. Okay, you hold it by its sucky ma-bob and you cut up the Velcro-looking part and on up through the squirty tube thing. The squirty ma-bob actually has two tube thingy-a-ma-gigs and you have to cut both of them. Then, with your scissors, you cut around the gut in a little triangle shape. From the gooey gut part you take out the pooey stuff and the thing that looks like lung but you can leave the pinkish gunk if you want to. Then you rinse the pieces off.”
“How long did it take?”
“Way more than two hours.”
“And how did they taste?”
Schrunching up her nose, she reluctantly admitted, “ I didn’t like them too much.”
Meanwhile, during the entire cleaning procedure, Shelby just kept saying from her set-apart position “Que asco! Que asco!” (“How gross! How gross!”) No words could better describe…….
Proving the Tide Tables Wrong
July 15, 2011
As everyone should know, before you come to fish in the fishing capital of the planet you must check out the Tide Tables chart, found conveniently in an ubiquitous little book that costs a buck and is in every gas station/convenience store/fly shop in the great state of Alaska, of which were are many. This little book fits right in to the pocket of your fishing vest. (And please you lower-48ers, though finding one may be difficult, undoubtedly your fingers can, and should, Google its data. Do it before booking your flight.)
The little pages are filled with little numbers and little letters showing the date of month and day of the week, AM/PM High Tides and Low Tides, and the feet of difference between the two. (It reminds me of the mind-blowing, goobly- gook of info found in European train schedules.) Most importantly, perhaps, the little book has little symbols of little fish next to each little line. A little fish about the size of the tab key arrow northwest of your pinky finger means the fishing is good. There may be three or four Tab Arrow Fishies in a row, then on the next line the fishy size will begin to diminish to a Sideways $ Sign Fish size say, then to a <> Fish size, and on down to the lowly Hyphen-Fish. We arrived on an Ampersand-sized Fish day, and yesterday was Tilde Fish day.
So here we are here on Alaska’s Kenai Peninsula on one of the worse days to be fishing in the best fishing spots in the world. Our plan--outsmart the darn natives who put this farmer’s almanac of fishing together.
First thing we did was send out the big guns--Trice and Jim. They launched-off, out-to-sea with the ‘We wack em, stack em , pak em, and vak em’ Irish Halibut Warriors from Nilnilchit Beach at O900 hours. The girls, armed with clam suckers, shovels, buckets, rubber gloves and ignorance marched down to said beach water’s edge as the tide was receding—round 9:32 according to the table. (Note: when the fish punctuation is little bitty the clammin’s supposed to be pretty good cuz the negative tide exposes more of hideouts of the oblong, mouse pad-sized bi-values.)
In case you don’t know: to clam you scan for thumbprints in the sand. And, you watch what the Eskimo lady is doing: see divot, gently shovel like mad (and this takes finesse) a hole six to eight inches deep; reach in; dig, dig, dig; grab the “neck” AQAP (Q=quickly) before it squirts its way into deeper sand; don’t crush shell ( and don’t slice your finger on it as Leah did if you choose not to use the rubber gloves as Leah did, cuz these aren’t called Razor Clams for nothin’); toss in bucket; straighten up, unkink your sore back; look for next tiny clam dot for next victim. Take bucket-full (turns out to be 87 clams) home for cleaning…when the real fun begins!
 |
| Low Tide in Ninilchik |
Everythang's Big in Laska
July 14, 2011
We've seen so many bald eagles we've stopped counting...we're bored with the birds, now bring on da bears (but not too close please)! Just kidding, we're not indifferent to these soarers one bit, we are still in awe, but truly
the day was full of them.
It started this morning as I lay three-quarters asleep wondering what time in the world it was when I heard an overhead cry; it sounded like a chicken ate a kitty cat or vice-versa. Then, I thought I dreamt that I heard a mumble coming from my sleeping-bag-tumbled spouse "That was an eagle," the muffled voice said.
Then later, while we were looking for up-stream swimming salmon, Mr. BE himself, swooped down grandly to show the already present gulls how to fish. Talons at-the-ready he confidently took aim landing upright, gripping the water...but alas, it was he who had to eat crow--he missed, ha-ha! The gulls went wild with glee and
proceeded to molest him as he regrouped nonchalantly on a nearby dead tree. With his yellow beak piercing the air, he offhandedly commented, " I meant to do that" and swooshed upward, looped and glided arising to a far away tree where he joined others of his ilk to oversee the valley. Nearby, in the crook of a tall birch, was a very large, branchy nest.
We've seen so many bald eagles we've stopped counting...we're bored with the birds, now bring on da bears (but not too close please)! Just kidding, we're not indifferent to these soarers one bit, we are still in awe, but truly
the day was full of them.
It started this morning as I lay three-quarters asleep wondering what time in the world it was when I heard an overhead cry; it sounded like a chicken ate a kitty cat or vice-versa. Then, I thought I dreamt that I heard a mumble coming from my sleeping-bag-tumbled spouse "That was an eagle," the muffled voice said.
Then later, while we were looking for up-stream swimming salmon, Mr. BE himself, swooped down grandly to show the already present gulls how to fish. Talons at-the-ready he confidently took aim landing upright, gripping the water...but alas, it was he who had to eat crow--he missed, ha-ha! The gulls went wild with glee and
proceeded to molest him as he regrouped nonchalantly on a nearby dead tree. With his yellow beak piercing the air, he offhandedly commented, " I meant to do that" and swooshed upward, looped and glided arising to a far away tree where he joined others of his ilk to oversee the valley. Nearby, in the crook of a tall birch, was a very large, branchy nest.
 |
| Can you see them? There's three or four bald eagles in that tree. |
There are flowers galore, including giant bluebonnets that, like the gulls, must be on steroids. They call them Lupine. We've not sighted a moose yet but we've seen the signs,; broken limbs and a lot of scat. Did you know that moose turds look like the chocolate-covered pecans? Beware next time you shop in one of those all-things-Texan tourist shops. And the mosquitoes, well they're so big that they call them the state birds of Alaska. Har-d-har-har!
I can just hear it now if Palin and Perry go head-to-head in the Republican Primary Debates, Palin: "Well, it's ovious that I'm the bettha cayndidate cuz my stayte is bigger dan your stayte. My bluebonnets are bigger dan your bluebonnets. And even though we can see Russia from here, we've been able to keep 'em from crossing da bordha, ja, ja,ja, ja!"
My Poor Little Soul
July 13, 2011
Today, our first in the wilds of Alaska, as I marveled at the glacial-clad mountains that border Turnagain Bay, as an intensely pleasant air enveloped me, and as a palette of verdant color brought tears to my eyes it dawned on me that my poor little soul was thirsting for this lush naturalness. Now I get my fair share of outdoors but the dry, hotter-than-hell of our Texas existence of late is more draining than refreshing. More like a fasting than feeding. Now my poor little Texan soul is feasting.
Not to sound too pathetic or sappy, (I hope), but my poor little soul needs this vacation. My birthday wish (tomorrow is the big day!) is that if your poor little soul needs a replenishing you can get the stuff you need somewhere/somehow this summer--be it at the beach, a hike through tall trees, gazing at falling stars--or through your own vivid imagination.
Blessings y'all, Ellen
Today, our first in the wilds of Alaska, as I marveled at the glacial-clad mountains that border Turnagain Bay, as an intensely pleasant air enveloped me, and as a palette of verdant color brought tears to my eyes it dawned on me that my poor little soul was thirsting for this lush naturalness. Now I get my fair share of outdoors but the dry, hotter-than-hell of our Texas existence of late is more draining than refreshing. More like a fasting than feeding. Now my poor little Texan soul is feasting.
Not to sound too pathetic or sappy, (I hope), but my poor little soul needs this vacation. My birthday wish (tomorrow is the big day!) is that if your poor little soul needs a replenishing you can get the stuff you need somewhere/somehow this summer--be it at the beach, a hike through tall trees, gazing at falling stars--or through your own vivid imagination.
Blessings y'all, Ellen
Thursday, July 28, 2011
It's Just a Long, Long Way to Alaska!
July 12, 2011
It was a grueling travel day: three back-to-back two-plus to more than four hour long flights. Thankfully we had no complications! Bottom line, when you start from Texas, or really anywhere except farwest Canada--it's just a long, long way to Alaska!
We arrived in Anchorage at 10:30 p.m. Palin hour; 1:30 a.m. Perry time. It was strange to deplane into such a bustling airport so "late at night". My arrivals to Austin at this hour would mean encountering near-empty terminals, lights dimmed low, one's footsteps clicking on the granite floor as you make your long way to baggage claim. Perhaps there might be a lone janitor to nod your head to. But, not so here; the shops and bars are all still open as are the worker-people's faces as they do their chores all bright-eyed and seemingly fatigue-free.
Jim rounded us up and stuffed us and our too-much-lugguge into the Jeep that normally just faithfully tags along after their RV. We drove to a generic, sardine-packed RV park called the Gold Nugget and getting there was like driving down any ol’ anywhere-USA-type-city street with a Barnes and Noble here, and a Starsbuck there, here a Sears, there an Auto Zone, everywhere a Village Inn.
Feels like April temp-wise to this burned up Julyified Texan. When we arrived it was light outside, not sunshiney light but a light gray. Sometime during the night when I awoke the light outside was still gray. And still now at 6:30 in the morning, I'm lounging in my gray-hoodie, gray sweat pants and gray woolly socks and I blend right in with the dull, gray light that photographers would probably call "poor" and not worthy of the effort of capturing a print.
Jim has friends who have raised their families here and they tell of their lives in the summer as “the season of the sense of lost time”; people forget to eat dinner until 10 p.m. don't notice that their kids are still out playing and its midnight.
All my impressions of Alaska, thus far have all been received through very blurred eyes and from high above; seeing the fjords, inlets and bays of the Alaskan Marine Highway and witnessing the un-peopled expanse of the dark-shadowed mountains. The immensity or it makes me believe that the wilderness is still quite safe.
Today I'll be checking "the last fronteir" at RV eye-level as we roll Mom and Jim's Texas-plated "wheel-estate" toward the Kenai.
Fare thee well and I’ll do the same,
Ellen
It was a grueling travel day: three back-to-back two-plus to more than four hour long flights. Thankfully we had no complications! Bottom line, when you start from Texas, or really anywhere except farwest Canada--it's just a long, long way to Alaska!
We arrived in Anchorage at 10:30 p.m. Palin hour; 1:30 a.m. Perry time. It was strange to deplane into such a bustling airport so "late at night". My arrivals to Austin at this hour would mean encountering near-empty terminals, lights dimmed low, one's footsteps clicking on the granite floor as you make your long way to baggage claim. Perhaps there might be a lone janitor to nod your head to. But, not so here; the shops and bars are all still open as are the worker-people's faces as they do their chores all bright-eyed and seemingly fatigue-free.
Jim rounded us up and stuffed us and our too-much-lugguge into the Jeep that normally just faithfully tags along after their RV. We drove to a generic, sardine-packed RV park called the Gold Nugget and getting there was like driving down any ol’ anywhere-USA-type-city street with a Barnes and Noble here, and a Starsbuck there, here a Sears, there an Auto Zone, everywhere a Village Inn.
Feels like April temp-wise to this burned up Julyified Texan. When we arrived it was light outside, not sunshiney light but a light gray. Sometime during the night when I awoke the light outside was still gray. And still now at 6:30 in the morning, I'm lounging in my gray-hoodie, gray sweat pants and gray woolly socks and I blend right in with the dull, gray light that photographers would probably call "poor" and not worthy of the effort of capturing a print.
Jim has friends who have raised their families here and they tell of their lives in the summer as “the season of the sense of lost time”; people forget to eat dinner until 10 p.m. don't notice that their kids are still out playing and its midnight.
All my impressions of Alaska, thus far have all been received through very blurred eyes and from high above; seeing the fjords, inlets and bays of the Alaskan Marine Highway and witnessing the un-peopled expanse of the dark-shadowed mountains. The immensity or it makes me believe that the wilderness is still quite safe.
Today I'll be checking "the last fronteir" at RV eye-level as we roll Mom and Jim's Texas-plated "wheel-estate" toward the Kenai.
Fare thee well and I’ll do the same,
Ellen
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