Herding Kittens

God bless t-ball coaches. They have hearts of gold and the patience of saints. This became very apparent to me as a spectator during t-ball practice over the last couple weeks. 

My grandson, Brahm is a Cardinal and loves playing t-ball. He is a great slider; He slides to every base; whether he needs to or not. He slides when he goes for a grounder. He even slides in the outfield when it’s been a little too long between grounders. Sliding is a skill he works hard to perfect. 

The funny thing is that most of the Cardinals and players on the other t-ball teams are a lot like Brahm. An hour and a half of playing baseball is a very long time for most four and five year olds. All those rules, procedures and tasks of hitting, running bases, chasing after grounders, and throwing need to be supplemented with a few child derived activities. 

For example, rolling around or even just lying on the ground is pretty universal among outfielders; as is wrestling or just plain spacing out. If one is in the dugout, waiting for a turn to bat, stuffing grass down your pants or playing knock, knock on a batter’s helmet helps to pass the time. Infielders work on tripping opponents as they run the bases and crashing into each other whenever they go after a hit ball. These are all commonly practiced skills being perfected by the players. Brahm has mastered them all, but sliding is his favorite. 

After a few weeks of watching these little darlings scamper around the field, one truth became obvious. Coaching t-ball is a lot like herding kitten. The good ones string the players along, so the kids have fun and even manage to learn a little bit about how to play ball. They do all of this as volunteers and usually because no else in their right mind would do it. There has to be a special place in heaven for them; A place where they can polish their hearts of gold.

In Pursuit of the Halibut

Perhaps one of the most celebrated activities endeavored in Alaska is to go halibut fishing. This is one experience I had yet to have in all my visits. Stories are told of braving the elements in order to drop a line and let it sink to the bottom where the plank like halibut feed.

Halibut are a strange fish in themselves. The young start out like any other fish, but somewhere along the line they begin swimming more and more on their side. Eventually, they one eye shifts to the other side of their head and they become some kind of bazaar flat fish. 

Halibut can grow to be huge. One picture I saw was of a monster that weighed several hundred pounds. The exact weight escapes me, but nine or seven hundred pounds stick in my mind. It had been taken many years ago, but even today there are reports of fish that weight upwards of four hundred pounds. A lot of sports fishermen are happy with one that is over a hundred. I am told by Jesse and Steve, my fishing companions, the best eaters are less than thirty to fifty pounds. This is what they usually catch.

Some Guy with a 420 lb Halibut

When Jesse asked me if I was interested in going fishing, I didn’t hesitate to say yes. My husband, Rick’s tale of fighting the frigid nine foot swells that almost took his life and made his stomach turn inside out over the side of the boat did set me on alert, but Jesse assured me this would not be the case. We would wait for calm waters. My secret hope was that sunshine would also be part of the setting, and so it was to be.

I prepared to be on standby. My greatest concern was being cold, so I kept clothes to dress in layers readily at hand. Word came, tonight would be the night. Steve would pick us up at 8:00 PM, which sounds a little late, but here in Alaska on June 24^th, it was one of the longest days of the year. Light of day would not be a problem.

I pulled out cache of clothing which included my hikers, wool hat, and gloves. Upon inspection of my garb, Sarah decided to intervene. She assured me I would not want to wear any clothes that would later be worn in everyday setting. There was no guarantee they would ever smell the same again. So, she set me up with a pair of her old pants, an old long sleeved shirt, wool socks, a stocking cap, and two polar fleeces. The pants were short, very short, but they wouldn’t be noticeable because I also needed to wear her rubber boots, locally known as Xtra-Tuffs. I was ready. I looked pretty dorky, (not totally out of the norm), but ready.

Like clockwork, Steve pulled in at 8:00 with his twenty-two foot, well-seasoned boat.  This wasn’t the typical big, beautiful charter boat that most tourists go halibut fishing in when they go out into the ocean, but I wasn’t paying hundreds of dollars, either. This small craft would suit our needs just fine. We loaded up and headed for Anchor Point landing.

It was low tide; really low tide. For the sake of my land-locked friends, tide is something to be consulted like a crystal ball for every outing concerning water. Jeff Foxworthy would say, “You know you’re an Alaskan when you have a Tide Table in every vehicle, spread open on your kitchen table, hanging out your back pocket, and refer to on a daily basis.” Life here revolves around the tide. I won’t pretend to understand it all, but I do know when you have to drive out the length of almost two football fields from the normal shoreline to reach the water, it is low tide. Not necessarily the best time to launch a boat.

Yes, getting the boat out into the water took a combination of brains and brawn. Driving on the ocean bottom made me a little concerned. Though it was firm sand for the most-part, I knew there were places where the dirt was more like quick sand. Driving a Dodge 2500 with a boat trailer on it was not something I would ever do. 

They didn’t blink. Finding the best place to back into the water was the biggest challenge. The tide carved sand bars that ranged from a couple feet to several inches and was never consistent. They put me in the boat, and picked a place. It wasn’t ideal, but it was enough to get the boat off the trailer.

Steve brought the truck back up to shore and walked back while Jesse attempted drag the boat into deep enough water to be able to put the motor down. I was instructed to sit in the back, which I did dutifully. There came a point where my weight in the back kept us hung up on a sand bar. I moved forward, then out of the boat (the rubber boots were a good idea after all,) while the guys pushed and pulled the boat to a place that would work. I once again boarded the boat. With a little more effort and weight shifting on my part, we were off.  I closed my eyes and turned my attention to the sensory experience of moving across the calm waters.

The sound of the motor and cold wind on my face brought me back to my childhood days of fishing on Greenwood Lake. My heart melted at the fond memory, until the smell of the salty air brought back to the here and now. I opened my eyes to be greeted by the majestic mountains against a backdrop of blue sky that stood timelessly in front of us. This is the scenic beauty that draws many to Alaska in the first place. Good fortune flooded my soul and was increased as an otter, basking on its back while dining on a clam came into view. I shared in its contentment. 

We passed a mother otter suspended with its pups on her back, a troop of shrewd gulls perched on a floating log, and many other water birds before reaching our destination, six miles off shore.  Let the fishing begin.

I was handed a thick pole armed with a massive reel strung with one hundred pound test line. The pole itself seemed heavy. Steve hooked me up with a gigantic 20-ounce sinker and a heavy metal leader with a huge curved hook. On this, a half of herring was baited. I was instructed on how to use the reel and told to let it go until it hit bottom. The lock was released, the line dropped . . . and dropped . . . and dropped. Finally, it hit bottom, at about what seemed like 100 feet. It dawned on me that reeling it in, even without a massive fish on the end, was going to be a chore, but I was ready and waiting.

The Cook Inlet was still very calm. That didn’t stop us from drifting, and as we drifted, the bait on the bottom of the ocean floor made a pulsating tug on the pole. Jesse told me I would know a halibut took the bait when the bobbing was interrupted with a hard jerk followed by a constant powerful pull.  Then I should be prepared to reel in all hundred feet of line with a sheet of plywood on the end. I waited patiently with eager anticipation.

While I waited, I soaked up of view of the mountains, the sky, and the sea. The wonder and awe of being there engulfed me, and the warmth on my face shed by the rays of the falling sun filled my soul. I was satisfied and content. Waiting was no chore; it was more like basking in holiness.

Every once in a while, there was a change in the steady throb of my line, but nothing that even resembled a bite. After some time, it was decided that we should retrieve our lines and relocate. As I began reeling in the line, it crossed my mind that it was a good thing I didn’t have a thirty pound halibut on the other line. Between holding the heavy pole and reeling, my arms already felt a strain. Then as the sinker and leader became visible, I noticed my herring section had been replaced with an alien flask-shaped creature.

The little brown bugger seemed to have no mouth or eyes, and was the size of a very large grapefruit. The blubbery mass that was heavy for its size. It had a rather ornate design decorating it into sections much like a football. The poor thing must have gotten snagged and came to be an unidentified victim at the end of my large hook.  After I snapped a picture, Steve took the honor of cutting it loose and sending it back into the cold water of the inlet.

This was to be our only catch that night. After a few more hours drifting in peaceful contentment, the night chill and the soon to be setting sun sent us back to shore; empty handed, but heartwarmingly full.

It took the same expertise and effort to load the boat as it took to unload it. Yet, the silhouette of the guys before the red skies and ocean backdrop made this too picturesque; a splendid ending to another Alaskan adventure.  Yet, it was not the finale.

As I drove in the dusk of the midnight sun, the full moon greeted me; climbing over the treetops in the still well-light sky. It hung big and bright as if to say, “This day was just for you. Be blessed.”

There is no doubt, I am.

Rain to SNOW

Saturday, May 30, 2009

.It was a long night. I’m not sure if it is sitting in the car for hours on end, or laying in bed longer than we are used to because there is nothing to do but go to bed. At any rate, the morning started off rough. We forged ahead, packed our gear into the car and had a little breakfast. We had to wait until 8:30 for the restaurant to open, but managed to be on the road by 9:00.

We had made a pact that we were going to put some miles on today. If things went the way we planned, we would make it to Dawson Creek, about 500 miles. We weren’t on the road for 30 minutes when we can across the one thing we hoped we would not encounter; snow. Yes, the steady drizzle had gone and turned itself into snow, then back to drizzle, and then back to snow. So it continued all the way to Fort Nelson and beyond. Boy, were we glad we didn’t buy all that camping equipment.

The sights between Laird Hotsprings and Fort Nelson consisted of rock, rivers, and ‘folded’ mountains. Muncho Lake was one exception. Even though it was partly frozen, the teal blue waters were enchanting. I fell in love with that color. The rest of the ride was uneventful and even a little despairing as the foliage of the trees has reverted back to nothing but buds. The only thing more I could take was a nap. So I tried while Rick weaved around the winding road.

At 1:00, we arrived at Fort Nelson. It was a bigger town with everything one would need. We stopped at the local IGA for supplies, gassed up, and found a parking lot to have a picnic in the car. Then we headed out for Dawson Creek, 283 miles further down the road. Gradually the rain increased from a drizzle to an all out rain. Again, I am glad we are not camping.

Day Three - Rotten Eggs

We slept in a little. According to the time change it was 8:30. It was a cool and drizzly morning, and we were feeling stiff and unmotivated. Rick had checked over the car and noticed one of the tires was low. So at 9:30 we headed back to Teslin to see if we could find some air. No such luck. We did find a can of stop leak, shot that in, and had breakfast at the local restaurant. The meal was nothing to write home about.

We hit road as the rein began to pick up. Once again we hit road construction that lasted about 12 miles or so. Rick joked that there wouldn’t be any paint left on the bottom of the car. It was raining hard enough to keep things wet, but not enough to wash all the dirt of the car. The scenery was only vague silhouettes of mountains in the fog.

On we drove seeing nothing too significant. At about 1:30 the rain stopped for twenty minutes. This gave us the opportunity to notice that there were less black spruce and more white. These were fuller in contrasts and much more visually pleasing than the other.

Our wildlife count for the day was a moose, two geese, a black bear, several bison and some free range horses. All enjoyed the first growth of green grass along the side of the road.

The banks were also lined with rock art. Hundreds of messages were written in rock along the road that stretched for dozens of miles. According to the Milepost, this tradition was started by the Watson Lake swim team in 1990 and reminiscent of the inukshuks. Inukshuks were stone figures built by the Inuit people to serve as landmarks.

We made several stops along the way despite the rain. We stopped in Nugget City to check out a gift shop and buy some ice. We stopped at the visitor center in Watson Lake and toured the exhibits depicting how the Alaskan Highway was built. Hopefully I will write more on that later. Besides make the pit stops for animal viewing, we stopped at the Laird River to check out the Cranberry Rapids.

The highlight of the day was our stop at the Laird Hotsprings. We were luck enough to get the second to the last room at the Liard Hotsprings Lodge. A family that we have unintentionally been caravanning with got the last. We were very glad because even though we had only traveled 300 miles today, we didn’t want to go any further. The reason we wanted to stay; why the hotsprings of course. Even though it was raining we made the 10 minute walk along the boardwalk to partake in nature’s hot tub. It didn’t smell the best (unless you like the smell of hard boiled eggs) but it sure felt great. Since we are staying, Rick will be able to make use of them again in the morning. With that, we are looking forward to a good nights sleep.

You Can Call Me Debbie

After over forty years, I did something I haven’t done since I was a child. I got my hair cut short. Now, for most people this is not a big deal, but I wasn’t sure what the repercussions were going to be. I had wanted to make the change for quite some time, but couldn’t imagine what style would best suit me. The other important consideration was how Rick would deal with it. Over the last year or two I had been working on him; preparing him for the time I finally got up the nerve to do it.

I mentioned my plan to a few co-works and even confided in the fact that I was taking a risk because short hair on women had always been an item of controversy. I told them of the time several years back when I dared to cut my hair to shoulder length. It took Rick two weeks to get over it enough to talk to me again. So cutting my hair now before the 3500 mile drive back to Wisconsin could make things pretty uncomfortable or at least very quiet. I was prepared to accept whatever what going to happen.

So what did happen? I didn’t tell anyone I was going to actually do it, but the universe has its own way of working things out. Because it was somewhat spur of the moment, I was placed on a waiting list at my usual salon. In the meantime, I was able to make an appointment at another. Well, there was an opening and because they weren’t able to reach me on my cell, they called Rick’s. That phone call was the universe’s way of providing him a little foresight, so it wouldn’t be a total shock.

I had to pick Rick and Janis up right after I got my haircut. There was an initial disapproving glance then silence that lasted several hours. I had decided to take no offense and let him deal with it however he pleased. After several hours of avoiding eye contact, Rick took the bull by the horns, looked me straight in the eyes, and said, “I know you want me to look at your hairdo. It doesn’t look as bad as I thought it would.”

Needless to say, the years of projected disappointment and utter contempt blew away like dust in the wind. The real surprising thing happened a few days later. Rick took a good long look at me and admitted he liked it and that I looked like a Debbie.

So now I am enjoying the benefits of short hair. It’s easy to wash, style, and cool on the back of the neck. Sometimes, I look a little sporty and I’ve been told it even makes me look a little younger. All in all, I like it, and you can call me Debbie.

Traveling Back - Day Two

Thursday, May 28, 2009

We were up by and fed by 8:00. The heavy rains of the night before had given us a free car wash and the air was fresh and clean smelling. We attempted to make exchange some currency, but were not successful so we headed out.

Unfortunately, we didn’t have a clean car for long. Immediately we hit road construction which was to continue from Tok to the Canadian border. Then it began to sprinkle. For the first part of our drive we used the mantra, “Bob and weave” as we made ever effort to miss the monstrous frost heaves and potholes. Truth be told, Rick has now mastered the technique of minimizing the potential of bottoming out.

The road construction and conditions slowed us down considerably. It took us near three hours to make it the 90 miles to the Canadian border. The road construction stopped once we made it into Canada, but the poor roads and weather continued. The most disappoint aspect of the trip was that the clouds obscured our view of the St. Elias Mountains. Apparently, these are the tallest mountains in Canada.

We really became discouraged when we saw snow. According to a sign at the wayside, this area was permafrost. It was so cold, the Kluane Lake was still frozen over. Granted the lake is huge, but according to one of the locals of Destruction Bay, it would most likely be frozen until mid-June.

By the time we got to Haines Junction, we were feeling a little worse for wear and decided to pull over for fifteen winks. Once we woke up, the skies began to clear and we actually got to see the sun and mountains even if we didn’t see any wildlife.

Just past Haines Junction we finally had our hopes realized when Rick spotted two young brown bear hanging around the side of the road. They evidently were trying to read the Frosty Freeze sign, because they hung around long enough for us to snap a couple pictures. A year in Alaska and we finally got to see bear. Yippe!

A little further, an old bridge caught our eye. It had been built in the early 20s and was in the process of being reconstructed to historical sake. It was worth stopping and taking a couple pictures.

Then we drove, and drove till we got to the metropolis of Whitehorse. It was about 6:30 and we had decided whether we want to stay or drive on. We pulled into a couple place and noticed gangs gathered. At least the group of young men looked liked they were in a gang. We found a diner and had some supper while we figured out our next move.

Still indecisive we turned to the handy milepost. I had scan through it earlier and found the little town called Teslin. It was about 100 miles (168 km, everything is km now). I called a resort and made a reservation. We were off.

Driving this time of night was a good choice. Teslin Lake and river are spectacular sights that span for miles. Then we came across the White Mountains that truly lived up to their names. Two fantastic bridges were also part of the trek. All in all, I this was the highlight of the days drive.

Finally, at 10:30, we pulled into the Dawson Peak Resort. A newer established constructed of older trailer. Everything was closed down, but the key to our room was in the door waiting for us. Within minutes we were in bed. Another day; another 500 miles. Only a few thousand more to go.

The Long and Winding Road Back to Wisconsin - Day 1

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

We left Anchorage at 9:00 AM. It was windy and a little chilly, but the trip out of town was effortless and traffic was light. Our fully loaded car had been reorganized the night before. This gave us at least a little bounce between out axle and the springs.

By the time we got past Palmer, the sun was beginning to peek out of the clouds showing a newly emerging flora and magnificent geography to go along with it. Everything was more lush and full. The mountains were beautiful hanging below what was left of the gray clouds. Then we came across one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen. Set with in the Chugach Mountain range as a backdrop as the Mantanuska River valley spanned for miles and to its origin, the Mantanuska Glacier. Words and pictures can not describe the size and splendor. It is truly a sight to see.

But like life, things change. It wasn’t long and we were in a totally different place. The land was covered with narrow black spruce that seemed to be dying off. In comparison to the lush green we had experienced earlier in the day, the land seemed sharp and not a place I would ever want to live in.

We can upon a little town called Eureka pretty much consisted of a diner/gas station. We stopped there for a nice hot bowl of lima bean and ham soup. It really hit the spot and helped to break up the monotonous stretch of highway.

Finally we stopped for the night at Tok, about 287 miles from Anchorage. We got a modest room in the Golden Bear Resort and Campgrounds just before heavy rains started to fall. We did some laundry and hit the sack. We hadn’t gone far, but all in all it was a good day.

The Last of Tustumena

Thursday was a hard day; My last day at Tustumena. The entire staff met at Rocky’s Café for breakfast. There I was present with a Tustumena pin and a token gift as a farewell. Without a doubt, they appreciated me as a person and professional almost as much as I appreciated working with them. I was able to hold it together and accept the recognition without breaking into tears. That wasn’t the case at checkout.

I signed up to checkout first, because I knew the longer I stayed the harder it would be. It was still hard. My principal, Bob, went through the list and then looked at me and said “I guess I all that’s left if to wish you a good summer." He stood up with outstretched arms and gave me a parting hug saying, "We're really going to miss you.” Yeah. That’s when I lost it. I had no words and my tears said it all. I had said everything I wanted to say before, and now even if I wanted to say something else, I couldn’t. I made my exit.

Within the next half hour, I said my good-byes to everyone else. Some of them respected colleagues, several of them friends. I know we will stay in touch. I shut my door for the last time and left. If things would have been different, I would be staying at Tustumena. Leaving there is one of the hardest things I ever had to do. In may cultures, people mourn a loss by cutting their hair.

I sat in that chair and watched hair that had never been shorter than shoulder length hit the floor. By the time I was finished, I accepted the fact that things are not be the way I would like them to be. I also made the decision to trust that everything is as it should be. Now, even if I wanted to say something else, I wouldn't.

Awakened at the River

Today I saw my first mosquito and heard my first spring peeper. They reminded me of how much I love nature. For these last few weeks in Alaska, I am fortunate enough to be staying along the banks of the Kasilof River thanks to the generosity of one of my teacher friends, Marina Bosick. Her home is part the 160 acres homesteaded by her parents. The river surrounds the property, creating a private, sanctuary-like peninsula. This is the Alaska I had in mind.

For the first time in a long time, I walked down a secluded road and encounted only the things placed here by nature. The possibility of running into a grizzly brought a sense of adventure, but the overall feeling that came over me is one of peace and contentment. The long winter is over. The trees are budding, and the silty-green water swirled and babbled. The clouds parted to show a flash of blue sky that allowed the rays of sun to glisten off the feathers of a passing seagull. It had been there all long; Only now was I present to enjoy it.

I had forgotten how nourishing it is to take the time to meld into the natural world and just be. In those moments one easily gains perspective and inspiration. Everything becomes obvious and significant. Just hours before, it was just another day - another freeze frame of life; beautiful, but inanimate. Now, I am awake and grateful for every moment. Once again, I realize how truly blessed I am.