Month: August 2016

Happy Wife found a dog washed up on the beach. We’re guessing it’s the dog that washed overboard on a boat out in the bay earlier this week. There’s a wedding today on that section of beach. Bless her heart, HW’s doing what she can to have the dog removed before the celebration. She left a message with Animal Control in Seward, after calls to the local police and state troopers proved fruitless. And to think yesterday was National Dog Day. Tragic.

We haven’t backpacked in who knows how long. HW’s never been on the Lost Lake trail, one of my favorites, so I booked the Dale Clemens cabin for a night

The southern trail head is about four miles north of Seward, and from there a five mile hike, all up, but over a reasonable grade. Each of us was schlepping a 25-30 pound pack — sleeping bags, mats, a change of clothes, food, wine, gun, etc. The Dog led the way. The rain had stopped by the time we set out, but it was still pretty socked in when we arrived at the cabin about two and a half hours later. Last time I stayed at this cabin was twenty years ago or so. Didn’t remember much about it. We got inside and dried off. It was surprisingly warm and humid the entire way up. We were both drenched in perspiration. We changed into dry clothes and I managed to get the heater working, just to dry out our stuff. I think the forest service hauls in fresh propane canisters on snow machines in winter. I found one partially filled and hooked it up. An unexpected luxury. As was the deck out back, something I’m sure wasn’t there twenty years ago. We sat out there, each of us with a plastic cup of box wine, taking in the quiet, the Dog alert to the faintest snap crackle or pop in the forest below

Within an hour or so the clouds broke, and the thick cauldron of fog sloshing around inside what I had thought were all deep mountain valleys below us began to break up as well. We were surrounded by mountains, some with glaciers

The last fog to lift was in the “valley” the deck overlooked. But wait, that’s no valley. I ran inside the cabin, grabbed HW’s hand and said close your eyes as I guided her outside onto the deck

Would You Look at That – it’s Seward! Resurrection Bay. Our Nest, way out on that point!

I had no memory the cabin had such a spectacular overlook. Explains why we had cell service. We refilled our wine and sat there, taking it all in. As the night wore on the weather continued to improve. We made Mac ‘n Cheese and sandwiches for dinner

I used to be notoriously clumsy dangerous when lighting camp stoves. This time I avoided burning the place down.

By the time we packed up and hiked out the next morning it was 65 and sunny with hardly a breeze. Over 70 back at the car. We held up pretty well all things considered. I thought for sure we were gonna need a lot more Ibuprofen than what we brought along. Turns out there were a few left in the bag. Not bad for a couple Old Farts.

(Recall a mere mouse click or finger tap embiggens pics)

Stepped out on the back porch the other morning

I recognize that back-lit fist of clouds. Like Silver Salmon they show up in August^*. To the casual observer they’re benign, nothing to fear. One might even say they look pretty in the summer sky, no? I know better. They’re a harbinger of rain, a pillowy contempt for summer, Fall’s early messenger, “Enjoy it while you can Sucker, I’m coming.“

They did not disappoint. This past week was wet, and cool. By now the grass is so high you’d think the dog in the backyard was a black dachshund. The path our great nephew (Caleb) and I walked down to the river on his last day here was lousy with worms. (The river, sadly, was not lousy with fish). Everything it seemed was swollen with water. Except the boy’s spirit, it was not the least bit dampened!

That’s us in front of the plane (a de Havilland Beaver) that took us to Lake Creek, where, I was sure, we would catch our limit of Silver salmon, possibly even before lunch at the lodge, in which case the afternoon would be left to catch ‘n release. Speaking of suckers. You would think I had lived here long enough to know better, some years the fish just don’t arrive in the numbers expected, or when they’re expected, or both. I wanted nothing more that day than for Caleb to hook and land his limit of Silvers. Alas, it was not to be. The only fish that made it into the boat all day were two slimy gray Suckers. As if Nature were mocking us.

Oh well, at least lunch at the Lodge was decent. And if only for that day the weather improved steadily from morning on. By afternoon we were fishing in t-shirts under bluesky. Near the end of the day Caleb did hook a nice Silver that broke water in a really spectacular way, but it got tangled in the line of one of the nearby fishermen (Germans) and spit the hook. Our guide shot ’em an evil stare for fishing too close to us. One of them mumbled something back, part German part English. I was standing in the boat at the time and wanted to shout back, “Still smarting from that ass kicking you took in WWII, eh?” I resisted the urge.

Earlier in the day Willy and his dogs motored by to find us all hypnotized by our bobbers

He’s somewhat of a celebrity up here. NatGeo made a special years ago about men living off the grid – “Alaska Wing Men.” Interviewed ol’ Willy they did. He’s quite the character

From the day he arrived we tried to keep the Boy’s agenda full. In Seward we took a half-hour water taxi to a place called Caine’s Head and hiked up to Fort McGilvray, an artillery installation established during WWII to shoot down Japanese war planes if they tried to get to Seward from the Aleutian Islands. Turns out it was all a feign by the Japanese, a trick to force the Allies to commit resources to Alaska and thus weaken the force in the South Pacific. Pretty impressive what got built up there. Including a hole to mount the turret for a 90-mm gun, and a pretty large concrete fort that housed up to 500 men at one point

 

HW and Caleb inside a gunner’s blind; HW takes aim

Being the Mother Hen I often accuse her of being, HW did not trust the Dog not to leap to his death on the return trip

Back at our Nest we made homemade pizzas. Mine, I will proudly add, was the evening’s prize winner (it was the Anaheim chilies)

That all happened in the first couple days. Then it was back to Anchorage for the flyout fishing trip, followed the next day by a hike with HW to Reed Lakes (a day Caleb’s quadriceps may not soon forget – thankfully I was at work!), a bike ride through town, Hamburgers at the Arctic Roadrunner (yum), more fruitless fishing at both Bird & Ship creeks, and countless games of Hearts with our friend Mel who was also staying with us that week

And then poof! – it was over. I schlepped ’em both to the airport the same night, first Mel, and a few hours later Caleb. HW had earlier left to go back down to our Nest to manage the new carpet install, leaving them both with kisses and hugs aplenty.

It was well after midnight by the time the Dog and I finally drifted off to a deliciously quiet night of sleep. I was awoken at 4:50 am by a text on my phone. I’d asked Caleb to let me know when he landed safely in Chicago. I got up to pee, then fell back asleep.

Sometimes I don’t know how parents do it. On the evidence of the week, though, some have done it pretty well.

* Except this year.