August 30th

Denali was amazing. Words cannot describe the beauty of this national park; nor can pictures. The day that I left Oregon it was so hot and beautiful that I got a sunburn despite my sunscreen. In Anchorage and Moose Pass, the air was temperate and the leaves on the trees were green. The sun burned coolly in the sky and I hiked to Greyling Lake that Saturday and sampled some fine wild raspberries and blueberries. It seemed that summer was lingering yet.

However, as Michael and I hitched northward the fall colors slowly began to emerge on the mountainsides. In a sea of green, a single cottonwood had burst into yellow flame or the black spruce, birch, aspen and cottonwood type forest were sprinkled with oranges and yellows. The bare sub-alpine and alpine hills and crests were covered in blueberry bushes that had begun to redden and the ravines were like rainbows beginning with emerald green and spreading to blue to yellow to orange to red and then brown.

The Monday that we hitchhiked to Denali was sunny and the two spunky women that gave a ride from Anchorage to Willow had originally planned to pick blueberries just a couple miles outside of Anchorage. However, the day was so nice that they decided to drive 70 miles out of their way for us. The older woman regaled us with stories of her youth. She came her from Germany when she was 18 and promptly met and married her husband and went on to have all sorts of crazy adventures. They drove of as far as the Denali viewpoint in Willow. While we took picture after picture of the gleaming white behemoth through the haze, she schmoozed with some other tourists who were on their way to Denali and convinced them to give us a ride. They were from Germany and Australia and drove a small compact rental car and they looked doubtingly at our giant backpacks. However, with some grunting and stuffing and crowding, we were all able to shove in. We spent the ride pinned to our seats by our backpacks and a little worried for our lives as they took pictures out the windshield while driving. The car swerved dangerously into oncoming traffic as we all tried to glimpse Denali and the stunning scenery through the trees.

We arrived at the park headquarters at 5:00 and tried to orient ourselves. However, the ride had been long and it was difficult to suddenly switch from passive passenger to no-nonsense trip-organizer. In order to go backpacking in Denali you have to first register with the Back Country Information Center, watch a safety film, listen to a safety talk and get permits for the sections that you are planning to spend each night in.

Denali is divided into sections and each section has a limit to the number of people that can stay in it each night. There are no trails to speak of and no designated back country camping places and so I felt quite lost as I gazed at a giant topo of the park. I had to come up with five sections to stay in and they had to the best and the most scenic and I had no clue where to go. The rangers were helpful but they really are not in the business of telling you what to do or planning your trip for you. So Michael and I fumbled around with the map. We would decide on a section to stay in only to find it at capacity for the night. Apparently we were there during the height of backpacking season. We eventually mapped out what we thought would be a good solid trip and left the BIC with a couple of Park Service-issued bear cans and a permit.

Personal vehicles are not allowed in the park. Everyone is able to access the park by loading onto to forest green school buses that leave the entrance of the park at regular and frequent intervals. They stop often at rest stops and over looks and they always stop for a great view of Denali or animals. Passengers are allowed to get off the bus anytime they wish to disembark for a day hike or a backpacking trip. The buses also picks up hikers and backpackers waiting along the side of the road. It is really an ingenious system and it frees everyone from the steering wheel to ogle the scenery and animals. It also reduces congestion and pollution and completely does away with having to organize shuttles for through hikes or the stress of dealing with the uncertainties of hitchhiking. The permit/safety system for back country hikers and the buses are two things which I think every national park should embrace (I'm talking to you Glacier and Yellowstone) and perhaps other places where there is a lot of ignorant tourists who know not how to treat the land (yes, you, Russian River).

We boarded our bus Tuesday morning at 10:40 am. We road through black spruce forest areas. Our bus driver offered lots of interesting facts and trivia about the park and we learned quite a bit from her comments. Our first stop was at an overlook of a wide and braided stream bed. The wind whipped coolly through the cottonwoods and the sun glinted off the the icy muddy water coursing in its braids. The road continued to wind further into the park and the spruce gave way to open rolling hills with snow capped peaks in the distance. The alpine was awash with color. The willows were yellow and the low blueberries were burnt red and some ground cover plant was bright vibrant red. In the well-watered areas the grass was vibrant green and blooming wildflowers lent an occasional burst of purple or blue to the pallet of colors.

Once we left the spruce forest, we began to see wildlife aplenty. We saw bears many times; three of them, pawed in the huckleberries along side of the road, two were rooting up some vermin or another, one was trekking through the willows. Oh, we saw a lot of bears! We also saw a wolf feeding on a carcass in the hazy distance, caribou grazing along tundra, ptarmigan flocking along the side of the road and Dall sheep dotting the craggy mountain sides.

At Polychrome Overlook we had a stunning view of a braided stream bed in the foreground and a row of rocky and snow studded mountains in the background. Though I couldn't see them, I felt that each twisted valley and canyon of the mountains held a glacier. I felt the cool wind on my cheeks and could somehow sense the almost stagnant flow of the ice behind the misty shrouds of clouds hung up on those cold wet rocks. My senses were overwhelmed by sunlight, bright blue sky, dazzling white Denali, the polychrome colors of the Toklat river valley, the great green buses and the elusive glaciers just waiting one bend away from my sight. There...each one with its own canyon that it had been chewing out for centuries. Each one sliding slowly with gravity and melting, sending away a braided stream of muddy, silty water. The land here...so new under my feet. The out wash planes just beginning to support vegetation. How is soil built under these conditions? Where, in the rocky waste land did these hearty plants find nutrients? Everything seemed so raw and new here, at the edge of the earth. Mysteries of geography and geology are, at the same time, revealed and proposed; this valley was so obviously carved by a glacier, but how did life find its way after the cold ice receded?

About five hours into our bus ride, at Eileson Visitors Center, we had our first view of Denali since yesterday. The sky was clear and the mountain was out and it was huge and in our face! The bus driver informed us that such stunning views of the mountain had only happened about 10 times this summer. We were lucky. The mountain is so tall that it creats it own weather and it is often hidden by a blanket of clouds even if it is sunny nearby. Denali towered over its brothers, a bright white mound against a bright blue sky. It's relief is greater than that of Mount Everest. It was difficult for me to believe that from its roots to its peak, this is the tallest-"looking" mountain out there. It was also difficult to be peaceful here amidst the tourists and the interpretive signs and the clicking cameras. I, myself, couldn't stop taking picture after picture. There is something about human nature that wants to preserve and remember. We forced ourselves to stand silently for a minute in reverence and recognition. I let all the hype slide away, all the pressure that I had built up to see this national treasure. I let the mountain sink into my eyes and I let the wonder flow around. People should see this place, not to "check" it off there list but to truly appreciate the power of nature; its creative force even as it destroys. Oregan was in the full throes of summer, Moose Pass was at summer's tail end, and here in Denali the mornings are frosty and the hills are aflame with fall colors. Again, at the edge of the world, everything happens so fast.

We were dropped off by the bus driver at around 6:00 pm on the edge of a section at the end of the road near Wonder Lake. We stood and watched the bus pull away and I felt small and a little helpless. We had everything we would need to survive...two smart adults with a lot of backpacking and hiking experience between us. But there, at the foot of this giant mountain with winter knocking on the door, with no trail in site, amidst the grizzlies and the howling wind, and the green bus growing small in the distance, I felt frightened and unsure. Of course, this passed quickly as we walked along the stream bed of Moose Creek for a couple of miles. Denali was still alight with alpine glow behind us and as we walked a new set of mountains emerged in front of us, pink in the setting sun. We set up camp in the middle of the blueberry bushes, throwing the safety talk's warnings of being disturbed by foraging bears to the wind. We cooked dinner and found ourselves with too much food and too little of appetites. We decided to bury the food far away instead of stuffing ourselves. I felt uneasy about this as we were in grizzly country and the slightest scent of food can bring them running. However, I couldn't eat another bite. The wind howled all night and I slept little. It blew so hard that the tent was practically lying flat and by morning only two stakes were left in the rain fly. We were supposed to get up at 4:30am to catch a bus to our next hiking destination but the wind, the cold and the darkness made us rethink our plans and we decided to catch a later bus.

We started Wednesday's hike from a bridge just west of Polychrome Overlook. We hiked along the braided stream bed of a tributary of the Toklat River for more than four miles. The water was muddy gray glacier melt off and as we hiked further and further into the glacial canyon the wind blew cold and stiff. I did not want to spend another night in the wind so we searched for a place that was sheltered from the gusts and finally settled on a dry narrow river bed. Twilight had descended by that time. As we ate dinner, I saw a strange silhouette on the mountain ridge above us. We couldn't tell for sure what kind of animal it was but in moved back and forth along the ridge and we watched it until it disappeared in the darkness.

Thursday morning was glorious and filled with animals. As we hiked along the stream bed to the glacier, a whole herd of caribou descended from the ridges and milled about in the valley bottom. There were close to fifty of them and we skirted around them as best we could. We did come face to face with a whole group of juveniles and we played a game of chicken; we approached them and they approached us until, in a flurry of hooves and rocks, they turned swiftly and ran away on nimble feet. Just past the caribou herd we encountered a family of snowy white Dall sheep. We had spotted them on the ridge earlier that morning and they had descended while we watched the caribou. The going became even more gravely and hummocky as we neared the glacier. We had to crawl up and over moraines and go well out of our way to avoid treacherous stream crossings and steep banks. The wind was cold and the rain began to smatter. The mist, it seemed, clung to the mountains and we lingered in the rain and cold only long enough to take in the glacier and its slow great flow.

We retraced our steps with the wind at our backs. In order to get to that night's section, we had to cross the braided muddy glacial river. The safety video had cautioned us with grave warnings of hypothermia and even death as a result of improper stream crossings. Fortunately, the water was low this time of the year. However, the hype surrounding stream crossings made me feel as though I was about to do the most dangerous thing I had done in a long time. In reality, it was a cinch. We put on sandals, hiked up our pants and waded knee deep into the freezing cold water. It was flowing fast, but not fast enough to make me lose my balance or sweep me off my feet. It took all of 30 seconds but in that 30 seconds, my feet became numb with the cold and it took all of 30 minutes of hiking before they felt more like feet with nimble toes than heavy cement blocks.

We hiked up the side of the valley and followed sheep and goat trails though the rocky talus slopes. We eventually made our way out the valley and up onto a rolling hill covered in red blueberry bushes and green heather. We found a sheltered place out of the wind and set up camp. Then we watched the Caribou retreat from the valley below us back onto the slopes across from us. The alpine glow struck the craggy peaks behind us and a coolness descended with the darkness.

Friday, we hiked up and over the ridge and descended into another glacial valley. We left our packs in the braided stream bed and hiked up towards the glacier. We couldn't see it yet but we could tell it was there...around the corner because of the muddy water flowing past us, the shape of the valley and cool wind in our face. As we hiked, I spotted something moving ahead of us and upon further inspection identified it as a grizzly and two cubs. We scrambled up the stream bank and approached them from afar. We were about a soccer field away from them and 20 feet straight up a steep bank but I still felt a zing of excitement run up my spine. A grizzly is a great and awesome animal. The lore surrounding them makes me respect and fear them. However, at a distance, they looked like cute rolly poly blond bunches of fur and fluff. Their coats were frosted blond and they pushed their snouts into the ground, rooting for vermin and other tasty things. The sow was especially big and furry and her head was huge and ringed by a healthy collar of fluff. The babies were aglow and even more rolly poly. They seemed butt heavy but that did not hamper thier frisking about. After awhile, we realized that there were three cubs instead of two. When the mother caught our scent, her head shot up and then she spotted us. In less than a second, she had rounded up her cubs and darted up the valley side away from us. We were able to watch their ascent as they high-tailed it along a goat trail. The mother threw us worried looks and the cubs fell behind. She left the goat trail and ran straight up a gravel shoot. The cubs, not entirely sure why they were running, fell behind and she did not wait. Eventually, all four were but a sihouette on the ridge and then they disappeared over the other side. We continued up the valley to the glacier. It was covered in dirt and was not nearly as impressive as the bright blue ones but it was still awe-inspiring.

As evening closed in and we made yet another stream crossing, the rain and storms rolled in. We sloshed up a ravine of mucky chalk-like stuff and sunk in ankle deep. The wind blew cold and we were saturated by the sleeting rain. We quickly set up camp and cooked dinner. We shivered as we ate and even the hot noodles couldn't warm us up. The rain was a dismal affair indeed and I had to wear all my layers and use hand warmers in order to get warm enough to sleep. Even though it was our last night in Denali, it was our first with rain so I could not complain. The rain had stopped sometime in the night but we had to pack everything up damp and dewy. We got to see more bears and moose on the bus ride out of the park. I also got to see my friend and fellow fire fighter in Oregon, Jen. She is a park ranger in Denali. I also saw a fellow Moose Pass resident who was working on the road construction crew!

We were out of the pristine and wildlife-filled park and on the highway with our Anchorage sign by noon. After an hour of thumbing, we were picked up by some seasonals from Fairbanks who worked for a gold panning tourist company. They dropped us off at the local brewpub in Anchorage where we had some beers and recharged our phones and cameras. I was able to hitch a ride to Moose Pass and spent most of Sunday drying out and reconnoitering after having been gone for almost a month.

Alpine glow
caribou on highway
Denali Highway with Denali in the distance
Rachel, Wonder Lake and Denali

I should probably start from where I left off, I will try to muster some eloquence for the half-month-long overdue update.

I will begin with the late arrival of summer (August 16th): The clouds cleared up and the sun shown brightly and consistently for almost a week. The blueberries ripened, the long sleeve shirts were shed and we ran around in sandals and bare feet! We basked and blossomed in the sizzling 65-70 degree weather! I was very lucky to have a weekend right in the midst of Alaska's short summer!

I went fishing for Sockeye salmon at the infamous Russian River and was immediately successful. I am beginning to understand and become more competent in the process of fishing. I am more adept at casting. I rarely catch the hook on foliage behind me or on the other side of the creek. I am also more composed when a fish is on the end of the line. I still holler "fish on" and my heartbeat quickens. I am also better at landing the fish.

Salmon fishing is not complicated once you know the basics. Sockeye salmon are only good to eat if they are chrome colored. (As the salmon swim upstream to spawn, they begin to change form and color. Each species of salmon has a different color that they turn as they slowly begin to die. Sockeye go from silvery-chrome to a bright green head and bright red body) The fish are at different stages of spawning and therefore, the river is stacked with chrome and red colored salmon. The flesh of the red salmon is beginning to rot even as they live and they have developed ugly humps on their backs. The reds are a scary fish to deal with indeed and I quickly learned to discern whether or not the fish I had hooked was chrome or red. If it was chrome, I kept the tip of my pole high and gave the line some slack. Then I reeled in the line as I backed up to the shore to land it. If the fish was red, then I put the tip of my rod down and gave the line a lot of slack, hoping that the fish would work free in the current.

That day, the first chrome fish that I hooked pulled my rod apart at the second joint. It was imperative now more then ever, that I land the fish. Losing the fish meant losing the top third of my rod as well. Thankfully, I did manage to land the fish and salvage my rod. All I had to do was shove it back together more tightly at the joint. Killing fish makes me incredibly squeamish and I am not going to go into the details of gutting and filleting. I am still unsettled by the process of killing animals for food. While I have no issues with other people harvesting animals for their own use, I am still struggling to balance my vegetarian tenets with my desire to eat locally and provide food for myself to whatever extent possible. Living in a place that does not produce a lot of local produce and is far away from any that might be shipped has made me reconsider my values and how my vegetarian lifestyle might not be living up to those values. (It takes a lot of energy and resources to barge fruits and veggies all the way up here). In addition, trying to provide for myself through fishing and picking berries etc. has also brought the circle of life into sharp focus.

The salmon are amazing creatures and I am in awe of their life-cycle. Salmon an integral part of the food chain and are a keystone species. The entire Alaskan system (from humans to bears to micro-organisms to plant life) depends on these creatures and their ability to swim upstream, spawn, die and then decompose.

I hiked to Harding Icefield on the next day of summer with a friend from the district named Josh. The hike was about 7 miles of a fairly steep slope through high alpine tundra and across slick snow fields. We saw a couple of black bears and ptarmigan as well as marmots and eagles. The hike parallels Exit Glacier which spills out from the Harding Icefield. The icefield stretches for miles and miles and has the tops of mountain peaks emerging from its vast whiteness. From a distance, it is difficult to make out the terrain of the icefield but as you draw closer, steep slopes and rises and dips become apparent. The icefield is especially intriguing to me because it covers some of the only remaining unmapped parts of the earth. It is impossible to know what the terrain under the icefield is or will be like because the ice is constantly changing and cutting at the rocks beneath it. I was standing on the brink of the unknown and unpredictable!

I hiked up to Mount Alice with another friend of mine, Michael. We had a bit of a false start when we attempted to hike up the wrong drainage through prickly devil's club and dense aspens. We quickly reconnoitered and found the actual trail head, unmarked though it was. Mount Alice is on the brink of Resurrection Bay and overlooks the Snow River valley and the town of Seward. The hike was mostly straight up and then meandered through the alpine which quickly gave way to craggy rock and ice. We spent a lot of time ogling the amazing views of the bay and city of Seward as well as Harding Icefield in the distance. We spent some time orienteering and triangulating but quickly realized that my compass was woefully inadequate for such a task, especially with the northern inclination being so large. We also made snow angels in a snow field and scrambled up a rock scree to get the highest point possible. Once there, we spotted a black bear nosing around in a field beneath us. A glacier glittered across the ravine with a lacy waterfall trailing out beneath it. The clouds closed in, parted and misted time and time again. I felt like I was in Avalon or some other ancient mystic place. We glisaded down a snow field and tumbled down the gravel trail. I slipped and cut the meaty part of my palm on the sharp slate. I had a small but deep cut that didn't bleed too much because my hands were so cold and had little circulation.

I took a sick day from work the next day to allow my hand to heal. I rode Katie's bike to Victor Creek trail head and made a day out of picking blueberries, watermelon berries and raspberries and scaling a fairly large snowfield in an avalanche shoot. The snowfield was so steep and treacherous that I decided to abort my bid for the top. Even though I didn't make it to the top of the snowfield I still had excellent views of a glacier and the rushing roaring Victor Creek. Later, I learned that I was going to leave the next morning for Oregon to fight fire with a 20 person inter-agency hand crew for the next 16 or so days. I spent the rest of that evening closing up my affairs and packing up. I was so relieved to finally get the fire call. I felt like my life had been on hold or contingent upon the fire call. I was, however, a bit disappointed about having to miss out on a John Prine concert in Homer as well as more fun hikes and the onslaught of real "summer" weather.

AUGUST 29th

"Those who don't build must burn. It's as old as history and juvenile delinquence."
Ray Bradbury Fahrenheit 451

The possibility of going to fight fire on a 20 person type 2 hand crew in the states has been hanging over my head for what seems like months. It began as a small thorn in my side or a hot spot on my heel as the documentation of my certifications got lost in the governmental circular file - some glitch in the transfer of information from one district to another. Fire festered as July rolled on and the trail crew supervisors admitted they did not have any projects for the crews because "fire in August was a sure thing." Instead our crews fumbled through several minor projects that didn't have much worth and only took hours of the day. The rest of the days we spent hiding from the overhead-going to Claire's house for coffee, sitting on logs near the trail, going to Seward on small errands etc. So you can imagine how much I was counting on a 2 week fire assignment to save me from the idleness and monotony of work and really challenge my muscles and mind. Crew after crew from our district left but still a few of us remained in Alaska, idle and in the rain. I actually passed up a trip to Denali with Matt and Wade, thinking that I would miss my chance to go on a fire. However, as I mentioned earlier, I got the call and headed off to Oregon the next day at 4 am!

My crew was composed of people from all over Alaska and from all different backgrounds. There were trail rats from Cordova, Flower Sniffers from Denali, Fire Dogs from Homer, ecologists from Fairbanks and a hand full of us from the SRD. We all had different flights into Portland and I spent most of the day waiting for all of us to conglomerate in the airport. We rented four six pack rigs and drove to Detroit, OR where we set up camp in a school field in the pouring rain- bad sign. Our crew boss divided us up into modules. Module A, my module, was a saw team with 3 sawyers and their swampera. Module B was a line-digging force.

The next day, we reported for duty at 5:30 am and spent most of the day waiting in the rigs in the compound parking lot. My rig-mates happened to be the Crew Boss, Matt, and the Crew Boss trainee Torey, as well as Riggle, a cabin crew worker from Girdwood, and my fellow SRD trail rat, Chase. We had three i-pods between us and we listened to tunes through the radio with the help of an adaptor. At around 15:00, Module A was summoned to a .4 acre ex-fire caused by a lightening strike. We gridded and mopped up the area as well as dug a line around it and sprayed any hot spots with water from a backpack pump. We got drenched by the rain in the process and spent most of the evening trying to dry off at the compound.

The next day we staged all day in the rigs on the brink of an ex-fire caused by another lightening strike. The Incident Commander and his underlings had decided that the rainy, windy and foggy weather as well as the steep terrain and the prolific amount of dead snags made the situation far to dangerous to engage in. So we sat and listening to music for 14 hours.

To explain: The Willamette National Forest received over 100 lightening strikes in a thunder and lightening storm just prior to our arrival. The powers that be didn't want a single fire to burn because it might burn onto private timber company land and wreak havoc and disaster on the their business. Therefore, about 5 hand crews, 5 engines, a helitac crew, several professional tree fallers and about a dozen other resources were ordered to form a giant fire fighting and suppressing force. Fortunately, or unfortunately, the rain began pouring the day we all arrived and all of us resources found ourselves woefully in lack of the adrenaline-rushing-hazard-pay-overtime-invoking fire we had all been dreaming of. Instead, we found ourselves on the mop-up-line-around-and- staging ex-fire fighting force of doom. While this may all sound dismal and disastrous, it was, in fact, quite a riot and I found myself quite tickled by the insanity. I found my situation as swamper particularly hilarious. I was tasked with being Riggle's swamper. As a swamper, I am supposed to carry a Pulaski and a dolmar full of gas. I am also supposed to move all of the things that Riggle cuts with the saw out of the way so that the way is clear for the module digging line behind the sawyers. My first problem: how do I move things with my hands when my hands are full of dolmars and Pulaskis. My solution: given the incredibly steep terrain, I just sat down and slid pulling all the cut brush down with my body, arms and legs and when the pile got big enough, precariously perched the Pulaski and dolmar and moved the brush pile. My second problem (minor but highly laughable)- cold-trailing: We are supposed to take one glove off and feel in the ashes for hot spots that might be lingering. Again, my hands are full of Pulaski and dolmar. Hmm, I'll get right to that. I laughed so hard. My solution was to kick around in the ashes a lot and hope I would notice a not sopping wet muddy section if I came to it. My third problem was not really a problem as much as it was a hassle-three belts to undo every time I had to pee. That's right three. My pants, my line gear, my chaps and not to mention my shirt needed to tucked in and sometimes I was wearing rain gear too. My waist was really crowded.

On my birthday, we got to go find an ex-fire. We were given rough directions and we set out along the ridge to find it. A helicopter actually flew over the fire to give us more specific directions and I happened to be peeing at the exact moment that it passed over me and hovered for a moment-caught with my pants down! We found the ex-fire, which actually was smoking and over the course of our being there, actually had a stump that was visibly flaming. We only spent about an hour there because it was about to get dark and they didn't want anyone getting hurt in the dark. Safety first. We decided to call the fire the Rachel fire in honor of my birthday and I felt strangely satisfied that I got to see some open flame on my day.

At some point, the sun did come out and we all engaged in some really fun staging pass times. We played jump rope, jerk off, picked berries, twirled poi, played cards, hackey-sacked, read, made forts, whittled and did extensive statistical analyses of the contents of skittles packages. We also got super creative with our pack lunches and had some fun juice drinking contents. I got to listen to some really good music and hear some really interesting fire stories as well hang out with some pretty fun Alaskans. After about a week of the insanity, however, the Detroit Ranger District decided to demobilize the forces and we were sent home. A crew from Texas and our crew stayed at a ritzy ritzy place in Portland with an open bar from 5:30 to 7:30 so we lived it up. Then we lived it up some more at a brew pub called McMinnamin's and everyone sang me happy birthday and the bar tender gave me a free beer!

We were supposed to be gone for 17 days but were only gone for 11. So I decided to take the next week of work off and go to Denali National Park with my friend, Michael.

Rachel in full fire regalia: hard hat, nomex, chaps, gloves, line gear, ear plugs etc.
birthday crown of daisy's from Jen
Module B is "moving"
Riggle and Rachel: Module A's saw team extraordinaire!

I have had a most full weekend of wonderfulness. It included catching my limit of reds on the Russian River and three amazing hikes. Here a pictures which are worth a thousand words!!!

The Missoulians of Seward RD, Jenny, Shannon and Rachel
Harding Icefield
Vally of Mount Alice
Michael and Mount Alice

A trail project just outside of the main Seward RD office building

Rock fish from Res Bay
Scenic mountains from Res bay
Maintenance trike at Russian River
Otter on Res Bay
Swimming in Carter Lake!

Pink from Res Creek
Morale-boosting trail pancakes
Smoking pinks
Cassie, Kelly, Jenny and Rachel on the way to Grant Lake
Resurrection Bay

So to quickly update and refresh the the memory of the future me, who will undoubtedly rely on this blog as a reference when writing my autobiography...

I spent the last two weeks working on the Carter Lake Trail and we what some might call a bit of summer. The sun peeked out from behind the clouds just long enough for me to skinny dip in two lakes on two separate occasions. It also peeked out long enough to exacerbate my cow parsnip exposures on my arms and neck to the point of small blisters! Not only that but the sun's rays almost convinced me that I wanted to stay in Alaska forever and explore its every nook and cranny, but five minutes later, lightening ripped the sky and let out a torrent of rain strong enough to wash away small pebbles and create flash floods on the trail. I do love a lightening and thunder storm though!!

Carter lake trail held all kinds of surprises for us. First of all, the trail is much like the "M" trail for about 1 hour and then it opens up into this high alpine plateau that is ringed by peaks, peppered with goats and sheep. So every morning we had a real treat of a hike during which I did a lot of thinking and reflecting and day dreaming and poem memorizing. I can now recite the Cremation of Sam McGee and The Shooting of Dangerous Dan McGrew by Robert Service. We were doing basic maintenance work on the trail such as brushing, clearing ditches and constructing drainage dips. One morning, a cow moose and two calfs bolted down the trail as I was hiking up. I jumped up the trail as the skittered to a stop and we came to a bit of a stand off as we both waited for the other to pass. Eventually, I was able to get far enough off the trail to convince them to pass by. The next day, I spotted a grizzly bear rooted around in a campsite across the lake from me as I ate lunch. He moseyed on to the lake shore and jumped in and splashed around. I can only assume he was fishing for the greyling that they stock in the lake. I watched him for about two hours until he started moseying my way and I decided to clear the area. I also saw a bull moose tramping along the hill side above where we were working. At some point when the rain set in again, my crew sunk into a pit of despair and bad feelings so I made sourdough pancakes for them during a lunch break on my camp stove. It was fun but didn't really work. I made cupcakes the next day and that didn't really work either.

However, after work has been a joy as always. Highlights have included canoeing on Kenai Lake with my dormies and hollering at the cliffs with all our might to summon our echoes as well as a lively dinner at a coworkers house with his wife and two dogs. He goes by many names: Equipment Dave, Mountain Dave, or if you're me, you get the two confused and combine them to equal Machine Dave, or if you're Kurt, you call him Mountain Dew. Either way, when the shit hits the fan and the revolution happens, I am going to Machine Dave's place because he has everything from a composting toilet to semi automatics and a garden. His wife cooked up a scrumptious meal all in cast iron while we sipped bud lights and watched his dogs root around in the garden. His house, which he built with his own two hands doesn't have running water or electricity and is lined with stuff. So much stuff, and random too, but all interesting and I had to look at it all! Dave is a sweet old guy that wouldn't hurt a fly but he is part of a motorcycle gang and tells stories of being in the military and the like and I get the feeling that he has a crusty rusty past. He always has a huge smile for me and a lot of stories though. At one point, he brought me a bunch of books about strong frontier women!

Let's see, some other highlights include volunteering for Stream Watch on the Russian River, hiking to Caines Head and watching the chum salmon run up the delta and fishing for pink salmon on Resurrection Creek out of Hope. I went with Claire and Dave and they showed me the basic art of snagging salmon. Some salmon, reds and pinks included, don't eat while they are spawning. You just have to hook them in the mouth as they swim upstream breathing. The river was thick with these amazing creatures. Some had developed huge disgusting humps on their backs as they began the rotting process. It wasn't too difficult to snag a fish. In fact, any idiot could and was doing it on the river that morning. Landing the fish was a little more difficult and I barely managed to get my limit of three by the time we left. Feeling high on my pink fishing success, I tried my hand again at fishing for reds on the Russian River the next day and failed miserably. The second run has been really low and hasn't gotten too far up the river. That was my big mistake...instead of fishing the lower river, I hiked a trail three miles up and fished down from there. It was low on fish but high on scenic beauty, so I won't complain.

I proceeded to deal with fish all week as I embarked on the process of smoking the pinks I had caught. You have to soak the fillets in brine overnight (I used apple juice, salt and brown sugar), let them dry and form peliculil on their surface and then smoke them. I borrowed a shitty smoker and had to smoke my fish for something like 20 hours including overnight and had to replenish the smoking tray every hour or so. All the fuss and sleep loss was worth it though because my smoked salmon is very tasty!

I took a hike up to a very scenic lake with all of my dormies one evening after work and ran into two folks from my crew and their 4 dogs. So there were twelve of us stampeding up the trail and infringing on some poor kayakers solitude. There was an old mining cabin up there and was fully stocked with peanut butter and maple syrup. I don't know why the bears haven't ravaged the place.

I spent last weekend fishing and hiking. Kelly's family took us out on Resurrection bay in their little 16 foot boat and we fished for silver salmon. Unfortunately they forgot the bait. Fortunately, it was a BEAUTIFUL day and the mountains and vibrant colors were out in full force. I basked in the sun and ogled the scenery completely content to be out on the water. We caught a small rock fish and a small silver salmon with lures but threw them both back.
We had dinner at a Greek restaurant in Seward where the solo canoe guy from Grant lake was our server! Later, Kelly and Caroline and I lived it up at the Yukon bar where Nervis Rex was playing some ska goodness. We danced our heart our with a couple of commercial fishermen from Homer. Then, on the ride back home we stopped at a pullout to look at the stars-my first Alaskan star sighting!

I went hiking to Fuller Lakes with Kelly and Cassie and we were stormed on again. I love lightening and thunder, they conger up such energy! I made a salmon quiche for my dormies that evening and continued smoke fish.

I went back to the Russian River to get fishing for reds right and actually caught two after being ran off the river by a brown bear for a half hour or so. The place is a death trap for bears. 9 have been killed there by fisher-people or fish and wildlife service. This little bear was minding his own business, looking for fish carcasses and all the fisher-people cleared out of his way. I wanted to stay well out of his way but I also didn't want to let him out of my sight because I didn't want to walk into him. After foraging at the fish cleaning tables he ambled across the river from me and proceeded down stream. After that, I learned a few tricks from my fellow fisher-people and landed a beautiful chrome colored red and then a humpy ugly red colored red which I had to throw back. They are not good to keep once they have changed from chrome to red.

As it stands now, I shall continue my random adventures, perhaps go fight a fire in the states, but maybe not, and slog through work until I am done at the end of September.

Hummingbird
Wilco

His goal in life was to be an echo
Riding alone, town after town, toll after toll
A fixed bayonet through the great southwest to forget her

She appears in his dreams
But in his car and in his arms
A dream can mean anything
A cheap sunset on a television set can upset her
But he never could

Remember to remember me
Standing still in your past
Floating fast like a hummingbird

His goal in life was to be an echo
The type of sound that floats around and then back down
Like a feather
But in the deep chrome canyons of the loudest Manhattans
No one could hear him
Or anything

So he slept on a mountain
In a sleeping bag underneath the stars
He would lie awake and count them
And the gray fountain spray of the great Milky Way
Would never let him
Die alone

Remember to remember me
Standing still in your past
Floating fast like a hummingbird

I have now seen Wilco more times than I would have ever thought I would. The first time I saw them at Sasquach festival in Washington in 2004. I had only listened to one of their albums, Summerteeth and only really knew and liked two or three songs including Jesus etc. I enjoyed the show but wasn’t really taken with it as I was with other bands that I saw that weekend such as The Frames. I listened a little bit more to Wilco in the following years and came to really love Billy Bragg and Wilco’s Mermaid Avenue, especially California Stars and Way Over Yonder in the Minor Key. However, when I found out they were coming to Missoula, I wasn’t particularily sold on seeing them. Sure they had good musicians, but Sasquach had left the impression that they didn’t put on the best show. I decided to opt out of the show but at the last minute decided to go and scrounged up a ticket. I found as much of their music as I could prior to the concert and listened to as much as I could so that more songs would be familiar to me during the concert. They put on a great show though I still didn’t recognize many songs. They were very animated and fun to watch and I had a pretty good view. After that concert, I listened to them in earnest and began to really appreciate there thoughtful lyrics and lengthy instrumentals. However, when I found out they were playing in Anchorage, I was unsure about whether I was going to go see them. I finally bought tickets when I learned half of my crew was going to see them and that a friend from Missoula was actually going to be at the concert too!

The opening band was a local Alaska band called the Whipsaws. I had seen them play at the Moose Pass Soltice Festival and had gotten two of their CDs afterwards. The concert took place in the parking lot of a brewery and there was pub food and beer available. It was pouring rain and everyone was bedecked in raincoats and rubber boots. My raincoat failed the waterproof test even though I had waterproofed it only a week earlier and renewed my resolve to invest in a new raincoat. Ty and I got right up close to the front and jammed there the whole concert, which lasted for a couple hours and included some of my favorite songs. They insisted that they were going to play until the rain stopped. We all laughed at that because the rain hadn’t stopped since the middle of June. They wrapped up the concert with Hoodoo Voodoo from Mermaid Avenue and that made the show!

The rest of my weekend consisted of riding Kelly’s bike around Anchorage and watching fisherpeople catch King salmon out of Ship Creek.

The work week was one of the most dismal yet. Fortunately the rain stopped and the sun came out for brief stints. We spent the whole week brushing the Carter and Crescent lakes trail which is the first uphill trail I have worked on. Brushing and doing drainage work should be fairly easy and straightforward but the morale on our crew has sunk so low that we can’t even eek a good 4 hours of work out of a day. On the upside, I got to see a lot of big animals! I encountered a cow moose and two calves clomping down the trail as I was trudging up. Moose are so exciting to see! They are so funny looking!!! The next day, I spotted a brown bear across the lake from me. It was nosing around in the fire pit and then in ambled into the lake and splashed around catching fish!!! Yesterday, I watched a bull moose foraging on the hillside for quite sometime until it disappeared into the alders. I also watched bright red sockeye salmon struggling upstream in about 4 inches of water.

Moose's Tooth Brewery, Anchorage
Rachel, Laura, Me, Claire, Will and Chase and the 500EH helicopter! Loading up
During the ride...
Saying "goodbye"

I rode in a helicopter for the first time today!!! A crew of us from work were flown into a remote unmaintained trail to log it out. The trail is not for the feint of heart because it has some really hairy river crossings. There used to be huge wooden bridges on this trail and it was quite nice and well-maintained. It was fairly popular because it was the tail end of a point to point hike from Seward to Hope. However, mother nature took it's tole and swept the bridges right away so now, it is an overgrown, brushy, boggy and loggy mess. We were briefed by the helicopter pilot on safety and then we flew for about 20 minutes and he dropped us off in a gravely sand bar in the middle of Boulder Creek. We then proceeded to orient ourselves and hike down the trail in 3 pairs (a sawyer and a swamper). We leapfrogged each other down the trail cutting out fallen trees. Will and I were able to clear out 20 trees before the sprocket on the end of the bar got jammed into the bar and made the chainsaw very unsafe to operate. I feel very lucky that I wasn't hurt especially since I wasn't wearing my safety glasses (they were all fogged up and I couldn't see what I was sawing). Will and I were so disappointed and crestfallen at this point. You see, our crew rarely gets to do anything like this and we were excited to be able to log out a trail. Will and I both have histories of being on wilderness trail crews where logging out cross- cut style is almost all you do. So we were sad that we couldn't saw for the rest of the day. Instead, we proceeded to chop off as many branches as we could for the other saw teams and we actually removed 4 more logs! At around 5:00 pm we realized that we were going to have to abandon the log out effort in order to make it to our pick up location (about 6 miles from our drop off location) on time. We hauled ass over some of the sketchiest trail that I've been on, falling into holes hidden by 8 foot tall devil's club and cow parsnip and skittering on narrow ledges with a sharp drop off to the roiling river below. We reached a river crossing that was not safe to wade through so we scouted for a fallen log. We found one that worked but I was fairly nervous crossing and carried my backpack across first and then went back for the dolmar of gas. Laura actually slipped and fell but caught herself with her arms and legs so she was hanging under the log. Chase crawled out to help her and the rest of us uttered words of encouragement. I do not know what we would have done had Laura fallen into the freezing cold, fast-moving water. I am glad we didn't have to deal with that. Our pick up point was still 1.5 miles away and there was another big river crossing and a lot of crazy trail to go in about 45 minutes. As we were recouping after Laura's scare we heard the helicopter flying overhead. We radioed in and asked if then could pick us up on a sand bar in the next big river crossing which was about 150 yards away. They obliged and we burst out of the bushes onto the river bank just as the helicopter started circling to look for us. It made a tight landing and we loaded up and took off for the ride home. We were all wet and tired and happy despite the fact that we had to leave at least 25 trees across the trail to be cut by the next trail crew, next year!

Kenai Fjords Tour boat
Reserrection Bay
Harding Glacier
Sea lions

Bear Glacier with a medial morraine

View from Mount Marathon
Community dinner of sweet potato pizza and rhubarb pie
broken bridge on the Russian Lakes trail
replacement bridge made from native material
milling boards

But what minutes! Count them by sensation, and not by calendars, and each moment is a day. ~Benjamin Disraeli

So many days have passed and they are filled with moments indescribable. We have all felt the passage of time and softly wonder at its inexplicable ability to drag on and on while at the same time fly more swiftly than a hummingbird. I feel this paradox now. It seems as though I have packed lifetimes into 2 small months, but it also seems as though only yesterday I was coasting over the rugged mountains of Alaska, seeing the icy wildness for the first time and experiencing that giddy excitement of dreams about to be realized. There is something both strangely satisfying and unsettling about this feeling and with the summer half over, I feel awash of emotions: proud and satisfied with all that I have accomplished and experienced, anxious that there will not be enough time left to do everything and disheartened that there is still so much more time left before a pack up and ship out.

I have had so much fun the past couple of weeks! After a week off from work, which was filled with fourth of July reverie and many random encounters and projects which included but were not limited to getting skunked out on the lake fishing, baking pizza and rhubarb pie, building a new fence for the garden, running, strumming the guitar and slip sliding up and down Mount Marathon, I took off on another 8 day overnight hitch for work. The day before I left for the hitch, I climbed Mount Marathon. As I mentioned earlier, the trail up this mountain is about 3 miles long and gains 3000 feet. Folks race up and down this mountain in about 45 minutes during the annual fourth of July event. I decided to trek up the mountain on a whim and had on heavy car harts and a backpack with my computer. I figured that if folks could complete the trek in less than an hour in a race, I could complete it fairly safely in at least 2. I was comparing it to a hike up Mount Sentinel. One can jaunt up that in sandals care free, why not Mount Marathon? I was wrong. The first leg of the trail was a 100 foot vertical climb up a rooty rock wall and then quickly transitioned into a nearly vertical mud slicked braided scramble up through the trees. I had to use all of my limbs and grasp at the alders to keep from sliding down. The trail turned into a near vertical rock climb/scramble above the tree line and loose gravel slid out from under my feet or crumbled as I put my weight down. The view was great though and I watched no less then 7 eagles sweep on the air currents above me and out towards Resurrection bay. I had a grand view of the bay and the fjords and hanging glaciers and the town of Seward below me. I encountered several other hikers who had seen a black bear on the trail and who had watched grizzlies playing on a ridge across the way. I also encountered hikers who encouraged me to take the runners trail down the mountain which, from what I could tell from watching the race, was a snowy, then gravely then muddy shoot straight down. I finally reached the top at the one hour and a half mark and happily took in the beautiful scenery. I had been told to take the snow shoot down. Apparently it is the fastest and safest way to go down. I found that hard to believe but figured I give it a try. There was a well defined groove in the snow to slide down (no less than 900 people had done it before me) and I sat down, car harts, computer and all and began sliding down. I figure I got up to about 10 miles per hour and was sliding for a good 5 minutes or so. I was using my feet and my bare hands to attempt to control my speed and direction and got hung up on a couple rocks. The slide finally spilled me out onto a graveling slope and I stood up and shook the snow from my pockets and shoes and then proceeded to careen down the loose gravel shoot. What I thought would be a truly treacherous trek down the mountain prooved to be a really fun careening, slip-sliding adventure. The gravel slope gave way with each foot step and with some practice I was able to jog down at a fairly quick pace. The gravel shoot gave way to a creek lined with slick mud and for much of that leg, I squatted and slid on my feet. At some points I had to hike in the creek and scale down mini waterfalls. When I finally got down the mountain, about 2 and half hours had passed and I was wet and muddy and completely in awe of the men and women who run up and down that beast in less than an hour!

Work was fun. I learned a lot. I learned how to mill boards from native material using a small metal frame and a chain saw and how to use a grip-hoist. I practiced felling 16-20 inch trees and honed my chopping and bark stripping skills as well as my bridge demolishing skills. I wore waders for the first time and shoveled and hauled a lot of gravel. Our project was to demolish a broken bridge and replace it with another bridge made of all native materials. We had to fell trees and strip them and mill boards and fashion them into a bridge. We also had to haul out the material from the old bridge. It sounds like a fairly simple affair and it was, but very time consuming. We had visitors to our camp every evening. Dave and Arrow (belonging to Claire), Molly, who used to be on the crew, and two different Dans (one married to Katy and the other an old trail rat, as well), Adrian and Twig (Will's girlfriend and dog respectively) and Laura and Ivy (friend of all and her dog). Some of them cooked us dinner, while others helped us work and still others just entertained us with their presence and their dogs.

I came home to a ravished garden. Last week, a vole had been nibbling at the peas and the rhubarb so I fortified the fence and made it as hole proof as possible. However, my efforts were futile and upon my return, the broccoli, chard and brussel sprouts as well as the carrots and squash were all suffering if not totally nipped off. Katie had bought a rat trap the day before, so we rigged it up with celery and peanut butter. Neither of us were too keen on killing it but concluded that it had to be done for the sake of our garden. The setting of the trap was a treacherous two person ordeal that too leather gloves and a wooden spoon to accomplish but we left it stealthily in the peas and withing 48 hours, we caught ourselves a vole and squeamishly if not triumphantly disposed of it and reset the trap, in case he had told his friends.

Yesterday, Katie and I went on the Kenai Fjords Tour. It was a rainy, sleety, cloudy day but we still had a wonderful time. The five and half tour afforded amazing views of Resurrection bay and beyond, huge 6 foot ocean swells, and lots of wildlife. We encountered otters, sea lions, orcas, humpback whales, puffins, porpoises and seals. We also saw huge glaciers, 10 stories tall, calving and creaking into the ocean. The cool glacial wind and the icy blue of the compressed crystals were breathtaking. I felt so small in the shadow of this looming mass which is but an arm of the Harding ice field, an even larger mass of ice and rock that covers 100s of square miles of the peninsula. It is amazing to think that underneath these glaciers and ice fields are topographical features that have never been mapped and that are not the same as they were yesterday and when finally exposed will be nothing like they are today. I had hoped have such a glacial experience while I was here and I had a brief emotional moment as I contemplated their imminent extinction as a result of climate change and global warming. I have been toying with the idea of a pilgrimage to see the polar bears. They hold a very special place in my heart for many reasons but I think I will be satisfied with pictures and verbal accounts of these amazing and endangered species. I would only be killing them off more quickly by expending the CO2 to travel to them. Sigh....

Yesterday evening, a group of us went to Hope for open mic night. It was the same crew as weeks before and bonfires before. Essentially, the whole contingent of forest service temporaries and their significant others fill the bar and the mud flats and the outside crevices and mingle to good music. I had a great time and interacted easily with my co-workers and dare I say, friends. I think that time has made me less of a stranger and an outsider. I think that this is a lesson that I will always have to learn. I am often discouraged by my inability to fit in or by others stand-offishness when what is really happening is the slow passage of time. I am beginning to learn the language of Alaska and understand its ebbs and flows and the small community which I have so boldly entered is starting to become less foreign. We are becoming accustomed to each other and my initial impressions of the social dynamics here were perhaps a bit skewed. There are amazing, thoughtful, poetic, compassionate people here. All it takes is time and trust and these things will reveal themselves. I found out that a coworker of mine has spent a year in Zambia working at a refugee camp and then she continues to fund raise for the cause and in my eyes, she has moved mountains and listening to her speak and reinvigorated me. I have spent the past two months worrying about my own trials and tribulations and the stresses of new jobs and social dynamics. Last night, I was reminded of the bigger picture, the world at the large, the passion of people trying to right the wrongs and to find beauty in the mire and to sing heartfelt poems and to dance freely and shout loudly. I thought that this was not here and have felt shy in my wildness, subdued in my goofiness, and laughed at for my conservationist/humanitarianism/environmentalist approach. I think that there are many in this circle of people who may, at first, scoff at recycling or make fun of using nature wipe instead of toilet paper or letting it mellow instead of flushing it down, but in the long run, they are silently working in their own ways to, as I like to say, save the world.

Today, I can almost feel the sun. It has been rainy and overcast for two weeks now. I am in Seward, on the edge of another weekend and another work week. Our projects and eight day hitches are complete and we now wait on edge for a fire call. The spontaneity of a fire call and the need for a fire call has everyone on edge. We depend on it for our winter survival and our summer occupation. Without a fire call we are left to waste time on the compound and flounder for projects and doomed to work in the rotting fish carcasses of the Russian River. But with a fire call, we are occupied for two weeks straight and making more money than we could ever hope for. But we have to be within an hour of the station and we have to be prepared and we know not when the call will come and if it will come at all. The rumors fly and tension is high.

The expanse of Alaska time stretches before and ahead of me. Katie is leaving tomorrow morning early. She will be gone for a month or so. I am excited for her because she will get to fight fire in the states and do what she was hired to do. But I am sad because she has been a good friend, a kindred spirit and a partner in crime. I know that my adventures will not stop but they will be a little more lonely without her. Time is passing in such a way that I am beginning to wonder about fall and the winter. I am beginning to wonder about the next year and the next 5. The last five have flowed by so easily, so quickly...I want so many things that I don't know what to work for in the mean time.

“Be yourself. There is something you can do better then any others. Listen to the inward voice and bravely obey that.” – Unknown

This is sound advice, for sure. However, like so many things, it is easier said than done and I am struggling to remember to be myself and to be content with my interests and tend to my happiness as well as others. I tend to have the hardest time when I interact with people who I am trying to impress or fit into, specifically my crew. I just completed my first 8 day hitch for work and it was really interesting. First of all, we use ATVs to haul all of our gear in so we are free to pack as much as we please. I really went out on a wire and packed two sleeping bags and 7 whole apples. I didn’t however, go all out because I was suspicious that the ATVs would break down and I would have to haul my backpack in the end. Fortunately, this was not the case, and we set up a plush camp, complete with propane stove, tarp, cooler and full kitchen set. I was amazingly comfortable in a two person tent (quite different from my usual little roadrunner than I can barely sit up in) and two sleeping bags. I sat back to learn the routines of this crew in our new settings. We wake up at 6:30 (Claire notoriously rolls in at 10 till 7:00 and we cook breakfast, which includes toasted bagels for some folks (yes, we brought a backcountry toaster) and coffee. At around 8:00 we start cleaning up and bear-proofing camp then we warm up and do safety circle in the form of hacky sack for about an hour. With 6 of us, it is a bit of a challenge to get a hack (when all 6 touch the sack before it falls to the ground). By 10:00 we are working hard in the ditches. Our project was about 4 miles in on the Resurrection North trail out of Hope.

We were replacing, adding and resetting culverts or as Kurt fondly calls them in a rough Boston accent, cul-ver-sacs. Our work proved to be amazing tedious because of the nature of the dirt. The area is covered in heavy clay and whether it is wet or dry it is difficult to break up and shovel out. We all worked on our own culverts and so the work was fairly solitary and I felt little pressure to out perform. After work, we gathered around the fire and chatted while one person cooked dinner. We had several visitors throughout the week. Molly, who was on the crew last year, spent three nights and three days with us. She worked with us and made us Mediterranean pasta with artichokes. Dave, Claire’s boyfriend hiked in with beer and Arrow, their dog and stayed for two nights and Janet and Nellie hiked in with Max, the dog and the makings for mojitos. Eric joined our crew from the maintenance crew and he brought two bottles of whiskey and a lot of tobacco. We spent every evening around the campfire and I mostly listened because they are all friends from way back and talk about things far out of my frame of reference. I enjoyed myself during these times but seeing the well knit group of friends made me nostalgic for my friends and how comfortable we all feel around each other and our form of entertaining ourselves. I sang a lot and was criticized for it, mainly because they didn’t want those songs stuck in their heads and not because they are opposed to singing. But I quipped “I let you be yourselves, so let me be myself.” We had an evening adventure to Hope for an open night mic and I learned first-hand about the dangerous nature of the mud flats that are exposed by low tide. I got stuck to my shins in some sinking mud and had a moment of worry as I tried to pull myself free. I was indeed, able to extract myself but later learned from my crew that people die on the mud flats every year because they get so stuck and then the tide comes in. Yikes.

I was able to meet up with my Aunt Debbie, who was visiting friends in Kenai, a town about 70 miles away. She came and picked Katie and I up and we spent some time wandering around Seward and then drove back to Kenai. The day was simply amazing and full of warm sun (it has been mostly rainy and cool). Her friends live right on the ocean and have an amazing view of the Alaska range across the water. The Alaska range is volcanic and sometimes, the mountains smoke! Katie and I pounded the beach while Aunt Deb and her friends played pool. We played rummy on the lawn in the warm sun at around 10:30 pm and continued the game inside until the sun set at around 1:30am. Geri, Deb’s friend has a great collection of classic rock vinyls and we whiled away the time listening to the Beatles, the Eagles, Aero smith, Neil Young and Fleetwood Mac. Geri, Katie and I danced ourselves silly and finally decided to go to bed as the colors of sunset faded from the sky. It rained the next day but that didn’t damper our trip to Homer, a quaint drinking town with a serious fishing problem. Homer is the halibut fishing capitol of the world. It is also filled with cute little tourist traps and souvenir shops. The main point of Homer is on a spit in the bay is ringed by scenic mountains and glaciers spilling into the bay. Homer is surely one of the most scenic towns I have seen. We wrapped up our Homer experience with a trip to the Homer Brewery. It proved to be a bit of a disappointment as they don’t serve beer at the brewery and we weren’t in the market for a growler full of beer. We were able to sample two styles of beer, rye ale and a raspberry porter. They were both tasty but the mood was rushed and I feel as though I need a better venue to truly sample and critique their beer. We did a grocery stop in Soldotna and returned to the St. Elias brewery where we chatted with the bar tender, who we have seen at Solstice and other functions. We also chatted with some of our fellow drinkers and exchanged phone numbers with some guys who like music. Imagine having that in common...

We hitched home with ease. The Fourth of July crowd helped our cause. Everyone swarms to Seward for the Fourth of July because Seward is where it all goes down. There are fireworks at midnight on the third, a parade and an epic race up and down Mount Marathon. The race is renowned for its challenge and it has become so popular that you have to win a lottery to compete. Competitors run straight up and down a rugged mountain. I watched the men careen down a gravel shoot at the base of the mountain. They were wet, muddy and totally scraped up. Seeing the women run triumphantly across the finish line made me want to compete in the race, or at least give it a go on my own. I partook fully of the Seward festivities and rounded out the night at a bon fire with my coworkers. I had a really good time at this bon fire, had a heart to heart with Mark and played guitar and sang until the sun set. This was one of the first times that I felt truly free and comfortable with a large group of my co-workers. I am not sure what was different but perhaps it is just the passing of time.

Midnight on the 3rd of July
Carolyn and Smokey in the parade
Carolyn, Katie, Jennie and Rachel on the 4th
Men competitors coming down Mount Marathon
Debbie and I in Kenai with Mt. Ilyamna in the background

The Men Who Don't Fit In
Robert W. Service

There's a race of men that don't fit in,
A race that can't stay still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
And they roam the world at will.
They range the field and they rove the flood,
And they climb the mountain's crest;
Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,
And they don't know how to rest. If they just went straight they might go far;
They are strong and brave and true;
But they're always tired of the things that are,
And they want the strange and new.
They say: "Could I find my proper groove,
What a deep mark I would make!"
So they chop and change, and each fresh move
Is only a fresh mistake.And each forgets, as he strips and runs
With a brilliant, fitful pace,
It's the steady,
quiet, plodding ones
Who win in the lifelong race.
And each forgets that his youth has fled,
Forgets that his prime is past,
Till he stands one day, with a hope that's dead,
In the glare of the truth at last.He has failed, he has failed;
he has missed his chance;
He has just done things by half.
Life's been a jolly good joke on him,
And now is the time to laugh.
Ha, ha! He is one of the Legion Lost;
He was never meant to win;
He's a rolling stone, and it's bred in the bone;
He's a man who won't fit in.