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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.

A friend told me today she’s headed to Florida for eye surgery. A while back, while reading, she began to see small distortions around letters in random words. Then, a few weeks after that, some letters would disappear entirely. The ophthalmologist diagnosed her with VMT. I’ve known her a long time. Used to work with her. Many years ago she hooked up with another friend and co-worker of mine. They’re a good couple. I asked her how serious this was. She said it was pretty serious. We talked a bit longer in the lobby of the credit union before she went her way and I mine. I regret not giving her a hug. I should have given her a hug.

Last week I was at the table in our dining room sipping espresso thinking about the upcoming visit of our great nephew, Caleb (this Saturday!). Something – I forget what – came to mind and I thought to text my sister (Caleb’s grandmother) about it. In it, I mentioned how unseasonably warm it was in Alaska and “Oh, isn’t it too bad Caleb isn’t coming this week. But hey, no reason you shouldn’t come now, and why not, you could stay the weekend —  I’ll buy you dinner!”

Sister lives in Wisconsin.

I mentioned it to Happy Wife as she prepared our breakfast, asking if it would be okay if sister came on the spur of the moment, and she’s says, of course it would, but it’s not like she’s going to say yes and come. We shared a hearty laugh – Haha.

Minutes later my phone rings.

It’s sister. “I can be there Saturday, early morning. Direct flight from Minneapolis. I’d return Tuesday. Were you serious?”

Seriously?!

Yes, seriously. Better yet, she calls back just minutes after HW and I have had a chance to process this and start laying plans and says, “Wait, I can leave Minneapolis tonight, 11:00 PM. Be there at 2:00 AM, ‘kay?”

O’tay!

And so it came to pass we picked up her up at Anchorage International, schlepped her back home, hack-sawed the lock off her carry-on (Sisters, I’m tellin’ ya…), managed a few hours of sleep, shopped the Saturday market for seafood and vegetables, and then whisked her off to our Nest on the beach in Seward

The weather, you see, did not disappoint

If anything, HW was displeased with the SEARING SUMMER HEAT. About 76 degrees or so, if I recall correctly.

To cool off we tottered over to Chinooks for drinks and a selfie

 Back in Anchorage it was dinner out (my treat, as promised)

and the next morning – Poof! – she was gone, back to America.

But we’d hugged the night before. I remember it clearly, we hugged. You may think that’s an awfully long way to travel to and from just for a hug. You’d be right it’s a long way, and wrong it’s too far for a hug.

A thoroughly satisfying evening of intemperance. If you call this evening

Muscle Men, Swisher Sweets, A Grandma, Titos & Gatorade (lots), and plenty of Pringles (Cheesy Quesadilla). Must’ve been 11:00 pm when I snapped this Selfie. Happy Wife resisted joining us as long as she could but eventually succumbed to our incessant texts and phone calls and walked over with the Dog. By that time the four us were well pickled, laying on the grass around the campfire which we’d started purely for aesthetics except, well, we did need a way to light the cigars after all! Playing with fire, arguably, was the second instance of poor judgement. The first had it that we’d haul everything down to the lake, board the so-called Party Barge which was nothing more than a dozen or so two-by-sixes attached (somehow) to two pontoons – no railings or nothing, and then set off on the open water (white-capping pretty good by then) carrying on as we tootled along the shoreline. Try as he did, though, Jason couldn’t fix the ripcord on the Evinrude (and who could after 4 vodkas). It was then that I spotted the box of matches floating in the lake. So we moved the Party back on land and doused the wood with gasoline we found near the shed while someone ran into the house to fetch a lighter. Shortly after that it was announced we were out of Titos, so Grandma and I hustled over to Brown Jug for another half gallon, and then the Walgreens next door for Gatorade and Pringles. The cigars were an impulse buy at the register.

Next thing I remember it’s 9:00 am Sunday morning. I’m waking up from a dream nightmare where I was hit by a train. Happy Wife spent most of the night in the tent with the Dog, yet when I rolled over there she was, next to me in bed. I got up and moved (and probably sounded) like the Tin Man after a night in the rain. Took four coffees, two midday naps, and a few gallons of water to finally bring me around. This was was about 3 pm. We decided we’d take a bike ride around the neighborhood. We hadn’t ridden more than a half mile when some a**hole drives by us way too close wailing his horn. We were both riding as close to the curb as possible. I shoot him the What’s your problem? gesture which I knew he saw in his rear view mirror, and then I see him flipping his thumb at the adjacent bike trail. To further express his outrage with the supposed lawlessness of cyclists in the roadway, as if to say the roadway is for motor vehicles only (he’s wrong about that, btw) he does a U-turn in front of us, crosses the road, goes up over the curb and drives his car on the bike trail on the opposite side of the street — flipping us off the whole time!

Well, Happy Wife returned him an invective or three of her own, and we pedaled on.

Finally made our way home, I drank a bunch more water, watered the trees (been hot & dry lately), and to cap our day HW made Marcona Almond-Crusted Halibut with Simmered Sofrito for dinner.

More water for me, then finally to bed.

Your record-breaking winner in the Men’s division today (41’26”)

The Women approach the base of the Mountain. Determined young lady (35 yrs old) in the middle won, and by quite a lot.

Another summer passing at the speed of Fun.

On the second to last day of their vacation the men and I flew a kite. One of those acrobatic models shaped like a Bat with two string pulls instead of one. It was not a day to earn one’s learner permit. The wind at the park (Kincaid) was gusting at >40 mph. It was like trying to control a Pterodactyl with dental floss

The instructions with the kite listed many cautions, among them “…misuse may result serious injury, even death.” We all had a hearty laugh at that one. “It’s a bloody kite for goodness sake. Death? Hey, we better call a personal injury attorney right now! Backslapping…Ha ha ha.”

And then it was in the air moving left, right, up and down so fast you could hardly follow it with your eyes. Then BLAM!, out of control it would slam into the ground. Let me tell you, if you happened to be on that patch of ground you’d have a plastic kite stay fused with your spine. Morals of the Day: 1) Stay well outside the radius of the kite and its flier, and 2) Not all product warnings are CYA!

…

A quiet evening on Resurrection Bay, here at our Nest for the holiday weekend. We’ll watch the mountain race on Monday and not do too much else. Except: A couple we met on the Denali bike ride in May are staying at a camp site down the road so we invited them to dinner tonight. Another couple we know in Anchorage said they might drive down, but weren’t sure given the wife’s slow recovery from a nasty fall on her mountain bike. Yesterday two girls who work at Happy Wife’s office stopped by, one with her boyfriend, Sam. We shared some wine and cheese and then walked the beach together with the Dog. Happy Wife’s boss’s son is running the race tomorrow, so they may stay the night in our cozy “Bear Cub” cabin on the back of the property.

More going on than I thought.

I like the 4th. It’s an noncontroversial holiday. Used to be anyway. Though it’s not hard these days to find people expressing contempt for the country. Sure enough if I were King I’d make some changes too, but so long as I’m not and Shangri-La isn’t an option America is a good place to live and work. Notwithstanding my waning sense of nationalism the longer I live in Alaska.

I don’t entirely dismiss the concern of certain conservatives that America has surrendered its leadership role in the world. My opinion, though, is that the mantle of leadership too easily segues to adventures in Nation Building, or the guise of Jingoism. My foreign policy, were I the King, would unashamedly lean toward Isolationism. I might authorize the use of force here and there around the world, but it’d be a really tough sell with me. I’m unpersuaded by the evidence that dropping bombs from drones on bad guys in Yemen (or wherever) is a direct cause of the preservation of liberty in America. Plus, on the evidence, it can be damn hard to get out of these messes once you’ve committed yourself (and far too easy to scale up). I think it was Colin Powell who cautioned GW Bush, “Careful, if you start this thing (War in Iraq), you’ll own it.” And look what happened.

And yet, if you ask me, it’s a mistake in the other direction to allow criticism of one’s country to morph into contempt for it. For all its warts and ills America is — still is — one of the greatest countries to call home. So Happy Birthday you.

The house guests arrived this week. From a distant land which anymore I to refer to as America. It’s just we’re just so damn far away from our fellow countrymen my sense of nationalism has faded over time.

Welcoming the house guests when they arrived

Good for them, not so much for Happy Wife. She looks to forward to a warm sunny day the way you look forward to a root canal appointment. Odd, I know, but I love her.

The house guests (4) left this morning in an R/V (24′) to go fishing for King salmon on the Deshka River, continuing on the next day to Talkeetna where they take off for a flight-seeing trip to Denali, followed the next day by a drive to Denali Park where they’ll take a bus into the park, followed by a two-day drive to Valdez (350 miles), a ferry ride across Prince William Sound to Whittier (a place where We Alaskans like to say the weather’s always “Shittier“), and finally a drive to Seward where they’ll rendezvous with us and the Dog at our place for three days of partying. Only one short week from now! Finally, if anything’s left of them, they’ll drive back to Anchorage, return the R/V , get on a plane and fly back to America. Specifically, Wisconsin.

They texted us from the Deshka this afternoon – The Kings Are In!

I know, right?

But hey, they’re Cheeseheads, so they’re cool.

Today, Happy Wife and I took a breather and went to the Solstice Festival downtown.

Cruel me: I thought to throw a bone (if I’d had one), just to see what might happen

Happy Wife at Holgate Glacier this past weekend. Click to Embiggen.

An ultra fine day outside. Bluesky and nary a breeze for my morning beach walk with the Dog. The tide was in retreat, exposing shoals atop which shore birds lighted to pick at what the water had left behind. The Dog was a black streak darting from one shoal to the next trying in vain to catch himself a bird. Or maybe that’s wrong. Maybe he understands he has no chance of catching a bird and only wants to run and play and scare them away. I’ve seen young children do the same thing. Put your average toddler who’s recently learned to run in a large field and point him at a gaggle of birds and watch what he does. Learning early in life that some goals are futile saves wasting time later on trying to achieve them.

Happy Wife and three (four?) other women went to Aialik (Aye-Al~lik) Bay to paddle Kayaks. To orient you, see the Red Dot

Zooming in to Holgate Glacier Bay, where they’re staying at a cabin

 

Two hours by water taxi to get out there. They left yesterday morning. Today should be fantastic for Kayaking. I spotted a whale in Resurrection Bay this morning during the beach walk with the Dog. I expect there will be plenty more to see in Aialik.

Supposedly this video is representative, less the wide-eyed guides. My women are out there on their own

I don’t mean to sound overly possessive of them, or suggest all of them really are mine. I’m no wannabe polygamist; longtime husbands especially will understand one is enough. The futility of sustaining multiple romantic relationships is a lesson best learned early in life. Chasing skirts and chasing birds is pretty much the same thing. Nevermind that I was a slow learner in this way.

And don’t tell me you’ve never Googled old girlfriends (or hetero-women, old boyfriends). I don’t think there’s any shame in doing so. It’s only natural to be curious about how Chris or Sue (or Larry) turned out. Especially Sue. I don’t know how many times I fruitlessly chased that bird. The problem comes when simple curiosity on Google gateways to rekindled infatuation, too often followed by the belief delusion that surely sending her one email can’t hurt. And before you know it’s, “Awesome, I can’t wait to see you at the class reunion!” This actually happened to a guy I worked with many years ago. Carl (made-up) had a wife and three nice children, a great job, a good circle of friends, he was a fine church-going family man. Really a storybook life (or so we all supposed). Then one day Carl’s wife gets a phone call from the husband of the wife Carl had just had a romantic affair with while at his high school reunion. His old high school sweetheart it turned out. The way I remember it, ol’ Carl was served with papers the second he returned home. Being a church-going man, and the fact he really did feel bad about the fallout at home — although, eventually, he did marry the high school sweetheart, after her husband divorced her — he repented for what he had done during a Sunday morning church service. In front of the entire congregation. So I was told.

Old Carl, it seems, had never given up chasing birds.

Me? A slow learner maybe, but eventually I got it

 

A day at the Dog Park

Sort of.

No fences. No gates. No struggles finding a place to park the car (in fact we walked). None of that. While the Dog ran and explored and sniffed and did whatever else an alacritous dog does in wide open spaces, we watched for whales. Name me a Dog Park where you can watch for whales while the Dog plays?

…

I thought so.

And still, after all the years we’ve lived here some people continue to ask, “Why do you live in Alaska?”

See above.

Trump and Clinton both claim they want to Unify The Country. If unification would mean the dilution of what we enjoy up here, then no. Count me out. I’ll stick with division. It sounds like a sour attitude I know, but really, can you blame me (us). If this were your backyard?

Once a week I get email assuring me that major companies are looking for talent like me.

Uh huh.

Like a sucker I click the links and apply for the jobs. I attach my CV. I should link you to my CV so you could look at it for yourself. It ain’t bad, in fact it’s pretty good. Ten publications/book chapters. Hundreds of cites. Proficient and/or Expert in high-demand bio-technologies. Co-inventor of things. Competent Pretty damn good in software development. Etc. etc.. I mean, really, how many CVs combine all that?

And yet my inbox is quiet as a church mouse in a coma. A mouse who’ll never wake up, I’m afraid.

Why? Working hypothesis: I’m Old. That, and I live near a Dog Park where you can watch whales.

And that last is a problem you see. Or, I should say, it would be the problem if my inbox were lighting up. The employer would want me to move. From Alaska to San Francisco, or San Diego, or Boston, etc..  I (we) don’t want to do that. Period. Can you say non-starter? I don’t want to live in a place where whales can’t possibly be seen while walking the Dog, i.e.  parts of the country Clinton and Trump want to Unify.

Which is not to say there are not many, many fine places in this country to live. But I (we) already live in one of those places, and so….?

HW discovered two burners on our gas stove suddenly stopped working. The burners are integral to a single component that plugs in to the stove top. Diagnosed the problem with a multi-meter – bad spark controller. That, and the igniters on the burners could have been bad, I couldn’t say for sure. Hauled the entire component to an appliance parts store in Anchorage, one I rather like and have used before. I went in thinking the entire component would likely be an FRU.

Spoke with a nice man.

“Got another one of these?”

“Nope. But we can probably order you one.”

Part numbers on the box were entered into the computer. Searching....

“Yessir, found it. Jen-Air replacement part. We can have it here in a week or so.”

He points to it on his computer screen.

“What?! $395.00!”

For a shoddy piece of metal, two stamped burners, a spark controller and two igniters. WTF?

“Look here, all I really need is a new controller and two igniters. Can’t we search for just these parts?”

The nice man feels my pain. Click click on the keyboard he goes.

Eventually, he locates a detailed parts list for the entire component. He zooms in and sure enough, there it was – we both ah-ha’d the second we saw it – the controller and igniter, with individual part numbers!

On a different web site he enters each number. Searching...

Bingo. He’d found what I needed, and only what I needed.

Including shipping, delivered to my doorstep – $84.

Big Shout-out to RepairClinic.com

Of course, I had to disassemble the damn thing to replace the parts. To say it was “cheaply made” would be a compliment. It was one of those deals where everything had to be oriented and connected just right before fitting the top into the base. Make just one mistake and the whole thing had to be lifted out and everything done over again. Having hands the size of a four-year old’s would’ve helped.

Finally got it right, screwed it up tight and snapped it back into the stove top. Slowly turned the knob… tic tic tic tic … Poof! Viola!

I give it a year or two, maybe more. Bookmarked the site.

Moving on to Item #2 this weekend.